


The Road to Barad-dur and Back

by Susana Rosa (SusanaR)



Series: Desperate Hours Alternative Universe (DH AU) D version [39]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Humor, Backstory, Brotherhood, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Politics, Spanking, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 01:48:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 48,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SusanaR/pseuds/Susana%20Rosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Story summary: While Faramir and Eowyn rested in the House of Healing after the Battle of Pelennor Fields, Aragorn and the Armies of the West marched to the Black Gate, and back. </p><p>Summary of last chapter 14: Prince Imrahil comes to a realization.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Wake of Pelennor Fields Part One: The Steward and the King

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1: Faramir and Aragorn found one another to be allies from the very first, from when Aragorn first called to Faramir in the House of Healing. 
> 
> A/N: This is the first chapter in a story spanning the events from just after the Battle of Pelennor Fields to just before the Army of the West arrives back at Minas Tirith, for purposes of the DH AU. In order to write Aragorn in Beginnings & Endings, I had to get to know him better, not just as Aragorn but also as Thorongil, and this story reflects my attempts to do so. Other authors have written the healing of Faramir by Aragorn much better than I have here, but I felt like I needed to take a try at it. 
> 
> My thanks to all of the readers who have encouraged me to keep at this story, and to Beth and Kaylee and Sparx, and everyone else who has been patiently hearing about it for three years now. 
> 
> Quotes: 
> 
>  
> 
> "He is a man of staunch will, for already he had come close under the shadow before ever he rode to battle on the out-walls. Slowly the dark must have crept up on him, even as he fought and strove to hold his outpost. Would that I could have been here sooner!" — J.R.R. Tolkien, "Return of the King," Aragorn speaking of Faramir. 
> 
>  
> 
> "For myself, I would see the White Tree in flower again in the courts of the kings, and the Silver Crown return, and Minas Tirith in peace: Minas Anor again as of old, full of light, high and fair, beautiful as a queen among other queens; not as a mistress of many slaves, nay, not even a kind mistress of willing slaves. War must be, while we defend our lives against a destroyer who would devour all; but I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend: the city of the Men of Númenor, and I would have her loved for her memory, her ancientry, her beauty, and her present wisdom. Not feared, save as men may fear the dignity of a man, old and wise." - J.R.R. Tolkien, "The Two Towers," Faramir speaking to Sam and Frodo.

Even the athelas might not be enough for this healing, Aragorn knew. The pale young Lord who lay before him was Boromir's brother, Finduilas' son, and Denethor's. Aragorn would like to save him, but feared that Faramir lay too near death. The southron arrow with its poison might alone have been enough to kill him. Being almost burned to death by Denethor in his madness had further labored the young man's lungs. Worst of all, Faramir of the House of Hurin had spent years in Ithilien, contending with the Shadows. He had faced the Nazgul to rescue his men on the way to reinforce Minas Tirith, and had faced them again on the out-walls of the city. Many men had fallen into death and darkness at contending with much less. Faramir, the core of this youth's spirit, was far within himself. Possibly -even likely- too far away for Aragorn to reach him. Too far, perhaps, even for Elrond to have aided him. But all the aid and hope that Faramir had here was Aragorn. 

He looked down at Faramir, memorizing the younger man's face so that he could find it again within his mind. Faramir was a handsome man. He had his mother's gold-red hair, but his father's strong features. Softened, a bit - marble, perhaps, whereas Denethor had for so many years been granite. Faramir was young. Only thirty and three years of age, he would still be accounted a youth by the northern Dunedain, whose Numenorean blood frequently saw them living well past the age of 120. On second glance, there was in Faramir's comely face something of Imrahil, Aragorn's one-time military protege and honorary younger brother. Imrahil, who even now stood behind Aragorn, hoping against hope that his old friend could save his only surviving sister-son. Aragorn had failed Boromir, failed him by missing the depth of the younger man's blind lust for the ring, and in failing Boromir, he'd failed them all. Aragorn took a deep breath, finding himself suddenly determined not to fail Faramir. 

Aragorn knelt down beside Faramir, clasping the young Captain's hand calloused hand in his own. Then he closed his eyes, and called. Called for Faramir, while gently guiding his own spirit to follow the path into Faramir's mind and heart, hoping against hope that the young Steward's spirit was still intact within, despite the many physical and spiritual assaults he had suffered. 

At first, all Aragorn found was darkness. Many healers would have given up then, he knew. Given up, and so saved their energy for patients who more likely could be saved. Aragorn, however, had been trained by no less of a healer than Lord Elrond, his foster-father and many-times great-uncle. So Aragorn waited, and listened. 

At first the darkness seemed dead and lifeless. Little by little, the sounds of a night in a forest haunted by the enemy became clear. Aragorn felt a thrill of hope. If Faramir were lost beyond finding, then his mind's first barrier would not be Ithilien at moon-dark. Nor would a path wend its way through the clinging branches, a path for Aragorn to follow. Follow it he did, and swiftly. Trolls threatened him, and orcs mounted upon their monstrous wargs. But Aragorn knew that dangers of the mind had no power beyond that which the beholder granted them. So he gave them none, and walked past freely. Armies of Haradrim screamed down from canyon cliffs, their individual faces visible in the throes of hate or fear or even pity. Aragorn walked past them, but even as he did so he marveled at how clearly Faramir of the House of Hurin must see even men of the enemy as people. 

Further dangers awaited in Faramir's mindscape. Just past the forest, Osgiliath burned. Boromir floated down the river, just exactly as Aragorn had laid him to rest. That nearly did give Aragorn pause. There was no earthly way that Faramir could have known exactly how Boromir had appeared in his last repose. Oh, some things he might have guessed, such as the manner in which Aragorn had arranged the fallen hero's limbs, or that Aragorn had put the weapons of the last enemies Boromir had defeated to rest beside him. But Faramir could not have known exactly how the enemy arrows had pierced his brother, nor exactly what those weapons had looked like, down to the nicks in the orcish blades. He could not have known that the boat which carried Boromir to his rest was an elvish one, for not even Frodo and Sam had known those things. 

Yet, somehow Faramir had known. Aragorn had not expected to see one of his own ghosts, rendered in perfect clarity, here in Faramir's mind. Only years of training with his foster-father enabled him to move past Boromir's bier, but pass it Aragorn did. His duty now was to the living brother, the younger brother whom Boromir himself had lovingly described as wise as well as brave. There was no time for Aragorn's own ghosts or regrets. 

Still, he could not help but whirl around when he heard the call of a fell beast. He could not stop himself reaching for a sword that was as insubstantial in this place as anything else. To his left flew three of the Nazgul, seated on their dread mounts, covered in long white sheets of linen. Aragorn dropped his sword in surprise. Not only had he remembered that in this place he did not need a sword if he recalled not to believe that things were real, but he was also...beyond startled. Bemused, perhaps, by the long white sheets draping each Nazgul and Fell beast. They were chasing one another round about, as if they were naught but large dogs some clever house wife had trapped within her fresh laundry in order to confuse long enough to corral or escape. Faramir's doing, for it had to be. 

'What a clever lad,' Aragorn thought to himself, and, 'That's his mother in him, Finduilas' whimsy and perceptiveness, to realize that something like that would work in this twilight world.' Denethor would never have done it, nor thought of it. Aragorn was sadly certain that the former Steward's own fears would have defeated him, long before he reached the Nazgul. 

As if mere thought of the the former Lord Steward had summoned him, Denethor appeared before Aragorn. Denethor raged, his eyes burning with some mixture of anger and dread. He shouted, but Aragorn could not hear the words, for someone had upturned a glass lid over Denethor. The kind of bell-shaped clear glass which might have been put over pastries to keep them fresh while still enticing customers into a bakery with their delicious appearance. Aragorn snorted a little with amusement. The Lord Steward's actions towards his younger son were no fit subject for mirth, but how Faramir had dealt with a male parent beyond reason within his own mind was. Finduilas' touch, again. But here Faramir did not have his mother's far-sight, for if Faramir had known of Denethor's hatred for Aragorn in the days in which the Heir of Isildur had served Denethor's father under the name of Thorongil, then Denethor's ravings would have increased upon seeing Aragorn. They did not, and Aragorn walked past the silenced lord with a silent prayer that Denethor find peace in the afterlife, and an even more fervent prayer that Aragorn be able to save the man's son. 

Next Aragorn came to what he thought had nearly defeated Faramir. It was the Pelennor, covered in graves. Far too many graves. A discarded shovel lay near the Anduin, its handle bloody where the man digging must have grasped. If Faramir had dug all .of these resting places himself, then he must have spent a great deal of time here. A good thing, if it kept his spirit alive, but also a bad thing, for it must have exhausted much of what small amount of energy the young man had left. To Aragorn's relief, Faramir's path continued on from the banks of the Anduin. Up it went, up over Mount Mindolluin rather than through the city. As was often the case when walking in the mind and thoughts of another, geography was not precise. In time Aragorn came to a door in the mountain. He opened it, and it was there that he found Faramir, in a room unlike any that existed in this world. 

It was in part a library which Aragorn recognized. One of the smaller and older collections in the archives. But whereas that room had no windows - because the light might damage the delicate old parchment - this room was lit by great windows on three sides. Only one looked out on the city of Minas Tirith. Another looked out on the sea, on the bay of Belfalas as seen from the unsheltered side of the old sandstone castle of the Princes of Dol Amroth. And the third window, the largest, showed Ithilien. An Ithilien that neither Aragorn nor any Man alive had ever seen, Ithilien free of the darkness, blooming wild and free. Still dark, in places, but the dark of quiet and safe leafy green peace. That Faramir could imagine this Ithilien, and create it in his mind, spoke eloquently of the hope within his heart. Minas Tirith, too, sparkled as it never had in the living memory of Men. 

All of this Aragorn noted in an absent way. The focus of his attention was the slender man with the red-gold hair who sat reading at a table. He'd looked up when Aragorn came in, wary at first and then curious. Gray eyes met gray eyes for the first time, and both widened at the strength of the feeling which vibrated between them. Never had Aragorn felt this instant or this great an affinity upon first meeting, never before, except with Arwen. As if he'd just found a part of his own soul in someone he'd never met before. A stranger who was already a friend, who somehow already held Aragorn's heart and his love. The affection which Aragorn felt for Faramir was entirely different from his love for Arwen, but that he felt so strongly took him aback. 

Aragorn saw in Faramir a weariness near equal to his own, for all the younger men had only a third of Aragorn's years. He saw also a pain like unto his own. A mourning for all that had been lost, and that Faramir felt both pain and guilt both for having failed to convince his brother and father of the ring's inherent evil. 

But Aragorn saw also hope. A hope that would lead Faramir to fight on, even if everything seemed lost, beyond lost. Aragorn saw the bright and shining force of Faramir's belief. The younger man truly believed - or at least hoped - that he could save something, something of the best of Men, no matter how impossible the circumstances. For one radiant moment, Aragorn saw Faramir and Arwen both, assuring him of what Arwen had promised him so many times. 

"There is still hope." Arwen said, and Faramir said it too. Said it, and looked towards the Minas Tirith of his dreams. 

Aragorn took a deep, ragged breath in this place which wasn't truly a place, as he remembered that it was THIS that they were fighting for, this bight possible future. Not just surviving. Aragorn had forgotten that, forgotten the best that Men could be in the desperate struggle to save them. Forgotten how resilient and selfless Gondor's people could be, in the midst of disapproval and dissension. Now young Faramir had reminded him, and Aragorn would not forget again. He smiled at Faramir, and gestured his hand. 

The windows around the room in Faramir's imagination bisected and multiplied. The views of Minas Tirith, Dol Amroth, and Ithilien remained, but now there were dozens of windows. Many showed villages in Arnor, blooming with new found prosperity and building into towns. One window showed a city on the shores of Lake Evendim, Annuminas the once-great capitol of Arnor arising from its own ruins. Another window looked out on Imladris, still a home for those on their way to the West, but with the elves departing now in joy and peace instead of sorrow and fear. Yet another window opened on brave Rohan, recovered from its recent torments. There were windows peering out on even Harad and Rhun and Khand, with the slave markets gone and the people freed from the oppressive shadow of the Enemy. 

Faramir's gray eyes met Aragorn's again, and now there was respect as well as hope in Faramir's clear gaze. As plainly as if Faramir had spoken it, Aragorn understood that Faramir was the type of man who would labor mightily to arrange matters so that his people had the best chance of victory with the least exposure to risk. But also that Faramir wasn't afraid to play the long odds, if the stakes were important enough. Nor was he afraid to surrender authority to one he deemed had a better right to use it. 

"I know who you are." Faramir told Aragorn, in this place beyond time. "I have seen you in my dreams." With that, Faramir arose and then knelt before Aragorn. "Welcome home, my King," he said, "And thank you. I am glad that you have come in time." 

Aragorn put a hand upon Faramir's shoulder, and with the other he cupped the young Steward's chin. "There is little for you to thank me for yet, my dear young lord." Aragorn smiled wryly as he sensed Faramir's disagreement, and the Steward's wonder at the endearment. It occurred to Aragorn again that there were certain similarities between his former military protege Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth and his fox-haired nephew. Similarities, yet differences, too. Imrahil would have been surprised at the affection from one he had just met, aye, but he would not have been so shocked and uncertain, besides. For Imrahil had always been absolutely secure in the love of his father, his sisters, and many of the long-time Dol Amroth retainers, as well. Faramir's reaction to his simple gestures of good will suggested to Aragorn that Imrahil's nephew had not been so lucky in Denethor, and that thought sorrowed Aragorn greatly. 

He could not heal that hurt, but he could offer Faramir his own friendship. And hope that Frodo would succeed in destroying the ring, and that they would all have the time for Aragorn to make good on the promise he had just made himself to befriend Boromir's brother and help to heal the hurts inside as well as without. 

For now, Aragorn offered Faramir his hand, a silent invitation for the young Lord to rise. An invitation which Faramir refused, to Aragorn's rising disbelief. Far wiser than Denethor his son Faramir clearly was, but perhaps far more stubborn as well! 

"First I will swear to you." Faramir said, and meant it. 

Aragorn resisted an urge to close his eyes and count to ten. The longer they spent in this place, the less likely it was that he could bring Faramir safely back to himself. But the new Steward was adamant, and so Aragorn listened to Faramir speak his oath of fealty, hearing and feeling the truth in every word. His reply was just as sincere. 

Then Aragorn extended his hand again, "For now what I ask of you, Faramir, is that you come with me, back to life and to pain, but the pain shall pass. This I promise you." 

Faramir took Aragorn's hand and allowed the Lord of the northern Dunedain to pull him to his feet. This despite Faramir's own momentary lack of trust, distrust for the healer, not the King. Faramir did not trust, that the pain would heal. But he did want to live, and he trusted that Aragorn might be able to lead them to victory, Aragorn and Frodo, if anyone could. So Faramir let Aragorn lead him back through pain and horror, and return to life. 

What happened next - the actual words spoken between them in the House of Healing- was anticlimactic. From the moment Faramir first swore his oath, Faramir was Aragorn's man. He would support Aragorn through anything, even when he didn't agree with the King's decisions. And Aragorn was Faramir's King. He would protect Faramir, return his fealty with love and his valor with honor. Nor would Aragorn ever forget that, of the many great gifts Faramir would ever give him, the first was reminding Aragorn that there was still hope. Hope for not just survival but for a better future, one that was worth risking everything for. 

As Aragorn left Faramir's side and went to call Eowyn back, he could not help but think of the last time he took his leave from Finduilas, and from Denethor's father, the old Lord Steward Ecthelion. Aragorn had never met Faramir in the flesh, although he had known the young child Boromir well. Faramir had still been in his lady mother's belly when Thorongil left Gondor, never to return until he came to the city's aid sailing upon ships of the enemy with the dead at his back. 

On that long-ago day in Gondor, in a garden terrace of this same House of Healing, Aragorn had bid Denethor's wife and father fare-well, before he left to face the corsairs of Umbar. 

"Swear to me," the old Steward Ecthelion had asked of him, his own gray eyes burning with a strange fervor that Thorongil- Aragorn - had not understood, "Swear to me that if you cannot return, you will entrust your role, protecting Gondor, to me and mine - to my son, his son, and Finduilas' unborn babe."

"I...of course I swear." Thorongil assured him. At the same time, he'd wondered again how much Ecthelion might know or guess of his true identity. 

"Swear it on the head of the unborn babe." Ecthelion directed, still oddly serious. 

Thorongil looked to Finduilas, confused 

"Here, Thor." Fin took his hand and pressed it to the top of her gently rounded stomach, over her soft dove-gray robe. 

Aragorn blushed and nodded, looking to Ecthelion "I do so swear." For a moment, Aragorn felt a frisson of ...something. As if some power had just been called, and then discharged. Finduilas must have felt it too, for she startled at the same time he did. But Finduilas didn't tend to find things like that alarming or even remarkable, and Ecthelion did not seem surprised either. 

As Thorongil left their company for the last time, he faintly heard Finduilas ask, "What was that about, Father Ecthelion?" 

"Contingency plans, m'dear." The wily old Steward's voice had rumbled sadly in reply, "Hopefully, we won't even need them." 

Aragorn shook his way clear of those old memories, and went to see to see what he could do for the valiant Lady Eowyn.


	2. In the Wake of Pelennor Fields: Chapter 2 - Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imrahil of Dol Amroth is grateful that the King has returned, but he cannot forget that Aragorn left them once, some thirty years before. Oh yes, and he also has a city to run, an army to re-muster, and a decided lack of trained, breathing help. Meanwhile, the aid of his youngest son Amrothos and Faramir's ranger lieutenant Dervorin is a mixed blessing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is the second chapter in a story spanning the events from just after the Battle of Pelennor Fields to just before the Army of the West arrives back at Minas Tirith, for purposes of the DH AU. In order to write Aragorn in Beginnings & Endings, I had to get to know him better, not just as Aragorn but also as Thorongil, and this story reflects my attempts to do so. 
> 
>  
> 
> Quotes: 
> 
> "'Suddenly Faramir stirred, and he opened his eyes, and he looked on Aragorn who bent over him; and a light of knowledge and love was kindled in his eyes, and he spoke softly. 'My lord, you called me. I come. What does the king command?'
> 
> 'Walk no more in the shadows, but awake!' Said Aragorn. 'You are weary. Rest a while, and take food, and be ready when I return.' 
> 
> 'I will, Lord.' Said Faramir, 'For who would lie idle when the King has returned?'" - J.R.R. Tolkien, Return of the King 
> 
> "For the present, I am but the Captain of the Dunedain of Arnor. The Lord of Dol Amroth shall rule the city until Faramir awakes." - Aragorn to Imrahil, Eomer, and Gandalf - J.R.R. Tolkien, Return of the King

The Prince of Dol Amroth stood in the House of Healing, watching as Aragorn, son of Arathorn, knelt over Imrahil's sole surviving nephew. Dear Faramir, who had been wise beyond his years even as a toddling child. 

The room was redolent with the fresh scent of athelas, but seeing Aragorn - whom he had known well long-ago as Thorongil - for a moment Imrahil's mind went to a different place. To a room in the great townhouse of then-Mirza Asad, near Umbar harbor in Far Harad. In that moment, Imrahil could smell a foreign sea, and the sweet smells of passion flower and heliotrope mingling with the rotting fish that Thorongil - Aragorn- had stepped in. Thorongil- Aragorn- had been by Imrahil's side, then. He'd been Imrahil's commanding officer and friend, as they tried to convince the Umbaran Prince to support them in getting a Captain of one of their ships released from an Umbaran prison. 

Umbar disappeared as Imrahil watched the color gradually come back to his nephew's pale cheeks, terrible hope gradually growing in his heart. He heard Faramir ask, "Who would lie idle when the King has returned?," saw Faramir's gray eyes, the incredible loyalty and intelligence of Finduilas' younger son, still in this world, and rejoiced.

Imrahil saw Thorongil...no, Aragorn, Isildur's heir, smile in reply to the new Steward's breathless pledge of loyalty. And something in the world of Imrahil re-connected, and felt right again, after years of worrying over Gondor's fate, and over Faramir and Boromir as well. Boromir was beyond worry, to Imrahil's never-ending sorrow. But Thorongil...Aragorn, had saved Faramir.

Thorongil...Aragorn, had left Gondor from Dol Amroth 33 years ago. Imrahil's hope that they could hold out against Mordor, though not his determination to try, had left with Aragorn. Well could Imrahil remember that difficult day! 

Imrahil had been younger than Faramir was now, and his commanding officer's desertion and apparent betrayal in the heady wake of their great victory over the corsairs had moved him nearly to tears. The younger Imrahil had turned to bitterness to mask his pain, barely listening as Thorongil did his best to explain that there were other things he had to do, things he could not do from Gondor. 

Facing the bleak future of protecting Gondor's shores whilst dealing with the sour, embittered Denethor without Thorongil's aid, Imrahil had lashed out, "Fine. You are determined to leave, and I cannot stop you. But I warn you - don't complain about the decisions we have to make while you're gone, Thorongil. Don't complain about what we become.” There had already been times when the moderates amongst Gondor's council had been near overwhelmed by the new officers, Denethor's men, who were oft-times unwilling to give quarter to surrendered enemies. Thorongil's calm, steady presence had soothed troubled waters, kept some unpalatable alternatives off of the table, and Imrahil feared what would happen with him gone. Imrahil was not ready to be Denethor's principal counterweight on the council of Gondor. 

Thorongil had only sighed, extending a fond hand to rest on Imrahil's shoulder. A hand which Imrahil angrily brushed off. Thorongil's lips had tightened, but he had permitted that childish gesture with no comment save a sympathetic, "I am sorry that I have to leave. I promise you that I will return some day, Imrahil. If I can, I will." 

"You told me to trust you." Imrahil had caustically accused the quiet gray-eyed man, "You told me to rely on you. You have called me friend and brother. And now you leave, when the threat of Mordor grows ever stronger? Leaving us alone to deal with it?" 

Thorongil had sighed sadly again, trying to explain, "Imrahil, Denethor does not trust me. This you know. His malcontent with me is leading him to paint you and your father with the same taint of mistrust. Gondor cannot afford to have Dol Amroth and Minas Tirith so much at odds, to have its navy and army torn against one another." 

Imrahil narrowed his eyes, but he had to reluctantly nod at that. None of it was untrue. 

Warming to his theme, Thorongil continued, "Moreover, we have defeated the corsairs so handily that Umbar will not rise against us again for another generation. Gondor need no longer wage a war on two fronts." 

Shaking his head, Imrahil pleaded, "Thorongil, there is no way we can prevail against Mordor. No way that we can win, not even on the one front. I don't know how, but you see it differently. Without you, I feel that we will be hopeless."

"You will not be." Thorongil had reproved him gently, "You are a gifted commander, a fine leader of men, Imrahil. Just hold on. Help will come, in time." 

A month or so after Thorongil left, the old Steward Ecthelion died. With Adrahil troubled by his arthritis, that had left Imrahil to help Denethor keep the council in order, keep Gondor moving forward with the war effort, all while thwarting several plots of Sauron's and caring for his ailing, pregnant sister. Imrahil's respect for what a leader Denethor was had grown exponentially, at the same time that his anger had grown for Denethor's anger at Finduilas' dangerous second pregnancy. 

Imrahil had spent thirty plus years trying to forget the betrayal that he had felt upon Thorongil's....Aragorn's, departure. And now, Aragorn had been back in Gondor for only a few days, and in that time he had helped Gondor to win an impossible fight, and saved Imrahil's nephew. 

Hope had returned with Aragorn, though Imrahil was not sure it could make a difference, in the end. Nor was he sure that he could ever forgive Thorongil...Aragorn, for having left in the first place. Still, Imrahil would be loyal to Isildur's heir, even should it cost Imrahil his own life. Imrahil knew all about loyalty, and loving one's brother, even after betrayal. He had spent nearly forty years being faithful to Denethor, as his brother-by-law slowly went mad.

Imrahil held his sleeping nephew's hand, and pressed a fatherly kiss to Faramir's brow. Then, with one last loving glance for his sister's only living son, Imrahil left one of his Swan Knights with Faramir, and followed the man who should be King. As the night wore on, Imrahil rejoiced to see Eowyn of Rohan and the hobbit Merry also healed. Nor did Aragorn stop there. He summoned his elven foster-brothers, and the three of them began working to save all the patients who hovered between life and death in the Houses of Healing. Imrahil left another of his knights to aid the future King and his brothers with whatever they might need, and went to organize the city, as Thorongil...Aragorn, had bidden him. 

It was a task made easier by the fact that Imrahil had his youngest son with him. Elphir might be the most steady of Imrahil's children, and Erchirion the best sailor. But it was Amrothos who knew how to get anybody to do anything. That was an invaluable skill, in Minas Tirith after what was coming to be called the Battle of Pelennor Fields. 

However, Amrothos, much like his famous (or infamous) grandfather Adrahil, was not the type to simply supply aid without commenting on it. 

"You're so very lucky that you have me." Amrothos told his father, after having managed (through channels Imrahil preferred not to think about too closely) to provision the Rohirric cavalry, and the surviving Northern Dunedain who had come to support their Chieftain, as well as Dol Amroth's own Swan Knights and supporting staff. 

"When have I ever given you the impression that I wasn't, ion-nin?" Imrahil chided mildly. 

"Well, never, really. But I just like to remind you every so often, what with me being your extraneous third son." Amrothos replied with a cheeky grin. 

Before Imrahil could respond to that bit of ridiculous nonsense, one of his swan knights admitted Lord Hurin. 

"Cousin," Imrahil greeted the tall, dark-haired Warden of the Keys, reaching out to pull him into a firm embrace. Hurin was not technically Imrahil's cousin, not unless one looked some fifteen generations back. Hurin was, however, Denethor's first cousin on his mother's side, and he had always been kind to Finduilas, and to her sons who were Imrahil's only nephews. And a friend to Imrahil as well, even as young and inexperienced as the younger Imrahil had been when he first came to represent Dol Amroth at council sessions in the White City. 

Hurin returned the embrace, before asking worriedly, "Imrahil? Is it true what they say? That the King has returned, and that our Lord Faramir has been saved?"

"It is true enough, Hurin, although one would never think of the fellow as a King." Amrothos supplied with chatty irreverence, "He dresses like one of those Northern rangers of his, just out of the woods. He had only one set of plate armor, but he does boast a week's worth of stubble, and he's dirty all over. He wears no silks or gold, just finely made but common clothing. But he has the finest sword I think I've ever seen, definitely elf-made. His men say that it's Narsil reforged. And he has the banner of the royal house, the white tree and..." 

"Amrothos," Imrahil reprimanded, unable to hide his irritation with his youngest son, "I am sure that hygiene was not uppermost on the minds of the King and his companions as they rode in desperate haste to our rescue. It is the height of rudeness to comment on such, particularly after he saved your terribly wounded cousin, and I...," 

"Give Amrothos some leeway, Imrahil." Hurin said, suppressing a worried smile. "We are in private, and it's going to be hard enough to convince our more conservative nobles of Lord Aragorn's bona fides. I'm not sure of them, myself. Best that I -and Faramir once he's well - know what we're dealing with." 

"Well, he did save Faramir, and the spirited little Rohir Princess," Amrothos half-apologized, "so I suppose that he can be forgiven not looking properly Kingly." 

"Not exactly the gratitude I was looking for, ion-nin, but close enough for now, I suppose." Imrahil murmured, before sitting down with Hurin and several other knights of Gondor and Dol Amroth, to hammer out what must be done over the next few hours and days, to keep the city safe and its armed men fed. Amrothos kept them quiet company for the first hour or so, his intelligent gray eyes that so often danced with laughter thoughtful and grave. He hazarded occasional suggestions, such as having someone fetch Lord Angbor of Lamedon, and old Forlong of Lossarnach's heir.

"This would go faster, with the Lords who lead the largest standing armies." Hurin agreed, "Or at least one of their representatives."

"Then we should have Lord Tarsten of Lebennin, or one of his men, come as well." Imrahil added, despite his own distaste for the idea. 

"Did they even make it here yet, Tarstens' levies?" Sir Bellasaer, one of Imrahil's Swan Knights, inquired, while Prince Amrothos made a sour face. Someone must have kicked him under the table, for he straightened up before Imrahil had a chance to give him more than a chastening look. 

"No." Imrahil quietly supplied, "Some troops from Lebennin arrived, but only those who were fighting Corsair pirates on the Pelargir when Lord Aragorn arrived with the Army of the Dead." 

"It seems that Tarsten, and some of the other Lords from the South, are waiting to see what happens." Amrothos commented with unhappy gravity, "If Minas Tirith fell, I suspect that they were going to try to reach an accommodation with the Enemy, or else flee." 

Personally, Imrahil felt that Amrothos had the right of that. At least with respect to Tarsten and some of his most sycophantic cronies. But still, "Heavy accusations to level, ion-nin." Imrahil said reprovingly, "This is a time of great fear, and not all Lords have kept to a high naval and military tradition." 

"Or kept up their army levies and standing forces to even the levels required by Lord Steward Ecthelion, let alone Lord Denethor." One of the knight commanders of Gondor complained bitterly. 

"Be that as it may - and it will be addressed, Lord the Captain Galdoron, that I promise you -," Imrahil said sternly, "The task before us now is to meld the surviving armed men of Gondor into a coherent force, not to fight among ourselves. Even where we have good reason." 

"You're right, my Prince." Amrothos said in clear apology. By using his father's title, the youngest of Imrahil's sons reminded all of their company of the formality and importance of the decisions they must now make, "I was wrong to sew discord when unity is needed. Perhaps knowing that Minas Tirith has held, those who stayed on their own land to keep their own women and children safe will hasten to the city." 

Most of the assembled company nodded solemnly. Galdoron's blue eyes narrowed and he looked ready to say something else, until Imrahil's raised eyebrow counseled him to quiet. Imrahil could make allowances for grief and exhaustion. After all, Galdoron had been one of his nephew's Boromir's closest friends. He was also the only son and heir of the Lord of the Selos River Vale, the powerful merchant Lord Sendarion. Most importantly at the moment, Captain Galdoron - called Galdron by his friends - was the senior surviving captain of Gondor. Which, given Faramir's current incapacity, left Galdoron the Captain-General of Gondor's forces. He could not afford to divide their remaining forces into arguing factions, and Imrahil didn't intend to pull someone out of retirement, or promote someone even less experienced to replace Galdoron, so he'd best make sure that the younger man minded his manners.

"In addition to the great Lords," Galdoron ventured more calmly, "Someone should send for Lord Tyorvond." 

Imrahil nodded, impressed. The old Lord of the Ringlo Vale had been the Captain-General of Gondor before Lord Boromir reached his majority, and was a canny old campaigner and strategist. More, he was a supporter of Lord Aragorn from the days when the returned King had been a sell-sword named Thorongil, and could be counted upon to support Aragorn's right to lead their armies. 

"Captain Helegair, probably, as well." Galdoron mused, "Perhaps also Captain Calarion, as someone will need to stay with the city." 

Imrahil frowned in thought. Calarion had been one of Boromir's former lieutenants, who had made Captain some years previously. Imrahil did not recognize the name of Helegair. 

"Senior surviving member of the city guard." Amrothos murmured, sotto-voice. "Their former fifth-in-command, who was brevetted into his Captain's bloody boots just yesterday." 

The Lords and Captains they had spoken of were summoned, so that Imrahil could begin the process of determining who had been lost and what men and materiel they could still muster. Amrothos again mostly kept himself quiet, although he did venture a suggestion about using the Lord Tarsten of the Lebennin's personal pet parrots as messengers, with the implication being that since that great Lord had brought so very few troops and so late, he might as well contribute whatever he had brought. 

It took almost all of the composure that Imrahil had left not to groan at his youngest son, who was currently smiling blandly at Lord Tarsten. Imrahil knew that a lot of the reason why Amrothos said ridiculous things was so that Amrothos - and Imrahil - could see how people would react to them. Now Tarsten's offended reaction showed Imrahil that he did feel some guilt for his actions, which made Imrahil feel slightly more charitably to the man, if only slightly. Lord Morcocano of the Serni Vale, one of Tarsten's principal vassals and his long-time apologist, quickly spoke up to smooth things over. Amrothos apologized and Lord Tarsten allowed himself to be placated. 

Imrahil was grateful to Morcocano in this moment, but he never forgot that his dearly departed wife had disliked the man, for no reason that Lorias had ever been able to clearly explain. Imrahil had always trusted his wife's judgment, but here (as Lorias had often admitted), he had felt that it had merely been her own personal dislike speaking. To Imrahil, Morcocano had always seemed a good enough man, a responsible Lord, caught between the rock of Denethor and the hard place offered by his overlord, the demanding and impatient Tarsten of the Lebennin.

And now his intervention gave Amrothos the opportunity to excuse himself. "If you will excuse me, Adar, my Lords all," Imrahil's youngest son said quite prettily, "I must go and find more in the way of replacement armor and arms for your soldiers here." 

Imrahil signaled to Lord Hurin to ride herd on their assembled nobles and captains, and rose to have a quiet word with his son. 

"Keep a respectful but discreet tongue in your head, ion-nin." Imrahil reminded Amrothos, embracing him firmly, and adding in a whisper into his son's ear, "if I get one more report from any of my informants that you are going off alone with dangerous men, or otherwise risking your life in a manner in which you know I would not approve, you are going over my knee ion-nin, long ride ahead of us or no. Is that understood?" 

"Yes, Ada." Imrahil's twenty-eight year old son agreed, blue-grey eyes wide. Imrahil kissed him on the brow, and summoned Sir Bellasaer of his swan knights to accompany Amrothos about his peregrinations. 

The night passed too quickly to accomplish all that needed to be done, but at the same time with torturous slowness as the absence of so many dear friends wore heavily upon the minds and hearts of the survivors. One of Imrahil's knights coaxed the Prince into getting a little rest in the early hours of the morning. Upon waking, Imrahil was mollified to hear that that Amrothos had also slept a few hours, at the home of one of Imrahil's former factors and retired sea captains, Arnaut. 

After a morning spent overseeing the repairs that urgently needed to be done and reviewing surveys of the numbers of armed men available for further action, Imrahil was surprised but pleased by the return of his wandering son. He was less than pleased to see Amrothos go flying with both fists at the retreating back of Lord Tyorvond, but one couldn't have everything. At the least, Lieutenant Dervorin of Faramir's Ithilien rangers managed to get an arm around Amrothos' sturdy waist and yank the youth back before he could get further than a foot or so towards the retired Captain-General. Who was also Dervorin's uncle. 

"Amrothos." Imrahil said warningly, although he was unable to entirely hide his relief at seeing his youngest son still whole and well. 

"Ada, Lord Tyorvond, he..." Amrothos began with pained, angry indignation. 

Dervorin quickly interrupted the youngest Prince of Dol Amroth, "My uncle - Lord Tyorvond- thinks that I should have been here in time for the battle. I cannot entirely blame him; I should have liked to have been." 

Imrahil considered Faramir's oldest friend gravely. "I am sure that you had your reasons." He said, and meant it. Lord Tyorvond might have despaired, at times, at his nephew's reputation as a reprobate, and feared him to be a true son of Tyorvond's traitorous younger brother Morvirin. But Imrahil had always withheld judgment. Dervorin was Faramir's man, and Faramir would not have trusted the brown-haired jokester as he did if Dervorin had been in anyway unreliable. 

An exhausted but saucy grin flashed on Dervorin's clean-shaven face. "Oh, aye, I did have my reasons. And since Faramir is so sorely wounded that his healers do not wish me to waken him, I came to find you." 

Coming to report to Imrahil would in many ways have been the logical thing to do, since as the Prince of Dol Amroth understood it, Dervorin was Faramir's senior surviving lieutenant. Well, barring only Lieutenant Anborn, who was still walking wounded himself. But Dervorin's dancing eyes hinted that something else was a-foot. With a chill running down his spine, Imrahil remembered all of the time his father had spent with a much younger Amrothos, Dervorin, and Faramir. Imrahil's father, who had once played the spy for Gondor, all the way into the very heart of the southern lands and even into Mordor itself. 

"Why me, Dev?" Imrahil found himself asking, even though he really, really wasn't sure that he wanted to know. 

"Because Faramir told me to come to you. I was in Harad, you see, with a dozen or so others of the rangers." Dervorin answered, his expression turning serious. "I have another dozen rangers and three score others still IN Harad." 

Imrahil's jaw dropped, aghast. "And it didn't occur to you to get them out before they were slaughtered?" He breathed in horror. 

Dervorin smiled with grim humor, "Oh, didn't I mention? They aren't there in their capacity as rangers and men of Gondor. Some of them don't even know that they're working for Gondor. They're in Harad and even Umbar as soldiers and captains and other upstanding citizens of the enemy's own forces." 

As Imrahil and Amrothos stared at him, Dervorin continued, "Would you like to know our southron enemies' planned order of battle, their chosen commanders or what weapons they're likely to have? Because I could tell you that, Prince Imrahil. If you'd like to know it, I mean." He finished with mock-humility, as if unsure whether his audience would even be interested. 

"Dervorin...." Imrahil began with asperity, wishing that he could interview his dearly beloved younger nephew Faramir, who surely must have known SOMETHING of this, and seen fit never to mention it to his Uncle, the second most important magnate in Gondor. Imrahil forced himself to count to ten, first in Westron, then in the mixed elven language of his Edhellond fore-bearers, and then lastly and fittingly in southron. "I think that we should sit down and talk, Lieutenant." He answered Dervorin at last. 

With another irritating grin, Dervorin agreed, "Aye, Faramir and I rather thought that you'd say something like that, should it come to this."


	3. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aragorn has declined to assert his title as King of Gondor until after their looming confrontation with Sauron has been resolved, hopefully in their favor. Eomer-King wonders why anyone would want to rule Gondor. After spending time with the Council of Gondor, so does Aragorn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes: 
> 
> Spoken by Gandalf: 
> 
> "As Aragorn has begun [entrusting the ring to Frodo to be destroyed], so we must go on. We must push Sauron to his last throw. We must call out his hidden strength, so that he shall empty his land. We must march out to meet him at once. We must make ourselves the bait, though his jaw should close on us. He will take that bait, in hope and in greed, for he will think that in such rashness he sees the pride of the new Ringlord: and [Sauron] will say:
> 
> 'So! He pushes out his neck too soon and too far. Let him come on, and behold I will have him in a trap from which he cannot escape. There I will crush him, and what he has taken in his insolence shall be mine again forever.' 
> 
> [Gandalf continued] 'We must walk open-eyed into that trap, with courage, but small hope for ourselves. For, my lords, it may well prove that we ourselves shall perish utterly in a black battle far from the living lands; so that even if Barad-dur be thrown down, we shall not live to see a new age. But this, I deem, is our duty. And better so than to perish nonetheless - as we surely shall, if we sit here - and know as we die that no new age shall be." - LOTR, Return of the King, "The Last Debate" 
> 
>  
> 
> Prince Imrahil - "Surely this is the greatest jest in all the history of Gondor: that we should ride with seven thousands, scarce as many as the vanguard of its army in the days of its power, to assail the mountains and the impenetrable gate of the Black Land! So might a child threaten a mail-clad knight with a bow of string and green willow!"- J.R.R. Tolkien - The Return of the King: "The Last Debate," p. 158

It was....odd, for Aragorn, to be back in Minas Tirith. Almost surreal. Oh, the city had changed, poor old White Lady. War-damaged and depopulated, the wind whistled where children had once played. But one little thing and another would be the same, almost exactly the same. A food vendor hawking sausages, or a burbling fountain in a small garden wedged between the first and second levels of the city. Aragorn had once gotten very drunk there with a much younger Denethor, back when they had been best of friends. Before Denethor began to distrust and resent Aragorn for having the old Steward's ear. If Aragorn closed his eyes, he could still see the ghost of Denethor-who-had-once-been, speaking with serious earnestness of advancing the cause of commoners in the military, and mooning over Finduilas. Could still hear Denethor's rare laughs as he teased his oldest nephew Celuvor [check name] and his new friend Aragorn. 

Then the wind would shift. Aragorn would once again smell the smoke from ruined houses, and death from the ravaged Pelennor. The images of the past would part like mist in a cold night wind, leaving nothing but the present and its myriad desperate dangers. Before last night, Aragorn would have called what he felt in the city to be desperation, even hopelessness, even after the battle of the Pelennor was won. But after seeing the city through young Faramir's eyes, after seeing Imrahil in action again...Aragorn could no longer name that feeling hopelessness. 

Desperation, however, was still accurate. Still, not all were so afflicted by the feeling as to appear down-trodden and glum. Legolas and Gimli, in fact, were cheerfully arguing about who had killed more enemies the previous day even as they walked up to the Houses of Healing to check on their fallen comrades. Aragorn's part-elven foster brothers accompanied them, their gray eyes reflecting first bemusement and now amused fondness at the antics of the their younger elven cousin and his dwarven friend. 

From time to time, Legolas' moss-green eyes would move to one aspect of the city or another in interest or even awe. Aragorn had to remind himself that, six hundred years old his friend might be, but at no time in Legolas' life had he ever had the opportunity to travel to Minas Tirith. Elrohir and Elladan, however, most certainly had. They had been made knights of Gondor, in fact, created as such by some long-dead ancestor of Aragorn's who had once ruled this land. 

If it was strange for Aragorn to stroll the near-abandoned, smoking streets of what had once been a bustling market, then it must be stranger till for Elrohir and Elladan. They had known Minas Tirith when every curve of every level had been filled with people, more Men than Aragorn had ever seen at one place in his entire life. He could not imagine the dissonance that his twin foster-brothers must be feeling. They handled it well, though. Someone who did not know them would certainly not see their sorrow and unease. And even that was leavened by their tolerant fondness in their gray eyes as they witnessed Legolas' awe at the city and his high-spirted bickering with Gimli. Legolas was quite possibly Elrohir's favorite cousin. 

As if hearing Aragorn's thoughts - and perhaps he had, the sons of Elrond could do that, at times - Elrohir remarked pensively as they passed by a burned-out tavern, "That building was once a pleasure-house, long ago in the early Third Age." 

Legolas frowned, confused. "Cousin, what is a 'pleasure house?'" 

Aragorn sighed, his face flushing, unsure how to explain. Gimli, from his similarly puzzled visage, felt just as much at sea. 

Elrohir chuckled, as his twin sighed and shook his head. 

"A pleasure house, Legolas" Elladan began, "Is an establishment that caters to the needs, ah, physical, amorous needs, that men have, when they do not have a wife, or...are, uh, ....away, from their wife." 

Legolas' eyes widened comically, "You mean, they....but that is sacred to marriage! Elu Thingol and Melian set down the ancient law of the Belain for our people, and Elros Tar-Minyatur continued it to Numenor, did he not?" 

"He did, Legolas." Aragorn reassured his shaken friend. "But not all men have followed that guiding principle faithfully. Most of the Dunedain yet living do in Arnor and Gondor do. But not all abide by such rules, and many Men of other countries have...different standards for these things." 

"That is....unthinkable." Legolas said, still shaken and disbelieving. 

"Unthinkable for an elf." Gimli told him in a gruffly reassuring manner, "Aye, and unthinkable for most dwarves, as well. Not something that Aragorn or his kin would do, but not so unthinkable amongst most men, lad." 

Aragorn thought for a moment of his dear friend and cousin, Halbarad. Halbarad had been with Aragorn when he served in Gondor's armies as Thorongil. In those long-ago days, Halbarad had found someone to love, here in Minas Tirith. Aragorn had never even met her - Halbarad had said that her family disapproved of northerners, and Aragorn did not know how far their romance had gotten. He did not think that Halbarad would have consummated such a relationship without becoming married, or at the least secretly married, but having had Halbarad die at his feet yesterday bearing his standard, Aragorn could not find it in his heart to hold such a decision against his beloved cousin, even had Halbarad done so. 

"A young man who is going off to war," Elladan covertly indicated a soldier of tender years, perhaps nineteen or twenty, who had just passed them on the street, "May not know if he will even survive the next battle, let along live long enough to find a lady to love and cherish and marry. I do not approve, necessarily, of him finding a friend or a similarly minded female to have that experience with. But I understand the urge not to miss out on such an important part of what it means to be a man, and it is not for me to disapprove of in any case." 

Elrohir's lips twisted in amusement. "A rather surprising attitude coming from you, brother." To the wondering Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli, Elrohir helpfully explained, "Elladan was sued in the courts of Minas Tirith for interrupting the commerce of one such pleasure house, during a visit to Minas Tirith many centuries ago." 

"I wasn't trying to ruin his business!" Elladan objected, "I only visited the establishment because I was curious. I mean, yes, a little disgusted, but mostly curious. The girls were so nice, and..." 

Legolas gasped, "Elladan, tell me you didn't!" He pleaded. 

"Of course he didn't engage in relations with any of them, Legolas, don't be silly." Elrohir scolded, his eyes twinkling as he continued, "My twin did, however, make friends with almost every 'working lady' in the house." 

"They were all fine women, with skills and aptitudes unsuited to their then-profession." Elladan explained. "So I just helped them to find more profitable, less scandalous employment." 

"Hence," Elrohir continued, still grinning, "Why Lord Glorfindel was woken up at dawn on a second-day to hear that one of his Lord's heirs was to be the defendant in a commercial law suit having to do with his visits to a pleasure house." 

"Sweet Eru." Aragorn choked out, hiding an incredulous laugh, "You are lucky that you survived that experience, 'Dan!" 

Elladan laughed ruefully, "It was a near thing, muindor-laes, at least for a few moments. Then Melpomaen intervened to explain, and he got Glorfindel to calm down." 

"I would that Melpomaen was here with us, now." Elrohir said regretfully, "Even as badly as this will probably go. But Galadriel and Celeborn did need an administrator to keep Lothlorien running while they and our uncles and Arwen go out to combat Sauron's forces in their region." 

Aragorn hid a wince at that intelligence. He'd known that his future wife wouldn't be able to keep her pretty elven ears entirely out of the conflict, but he had hoped. He stole a moment to think of his beloved, and what she might be doing at this moment. For an instant, he felt Arwen's hand in his, and saw the Goldenwood being readied for an assault. Silently but with all his heart he wished her well. 

After a brief visit to the House of Healing, Aragorn and the twins departed to attend a conference with the Lords of Gondor, while Legolas and Gimli bided with their hobbit comrades from the quest. 

Aragorn took a deep breath as they exited the city gates, trying to hide his exhaustion. He and his twin foster-brothers had labored at the House of Healing long into the night. Captain Magordan, one of Aragorn's own mentors from his early days as Chieftain, had come in the early hours of the morning to collect Aragorn and herd him to a tent to sleep. The twins had stayed even later than he. Still, their senses were sharp. They were the first to notice that Prince Imrahil and his retinue had arrived at the great pavilion at the same time as they. 

The twins were fascinated by Imrahil. Legolas also found Imrahil interesting, as his line was said to be descended from a silvan elf who had been an acquaintance of the twins' parents and Legolas' cousins, Galadriel and Celeborn. More, Imrahil, like Aragorn, bore the signs of such legacy in his clear-eyed gaze, though Imrahil's lacked the intensity of Isildur's heir. 

Elladan asked Aragorn, "Estel? Is that Prince Adrahil of Dol Amroth's son?

Aragorn, slightly surprised his brother would remember that, answered "Yes."

Elladan smiled as he reminisced, "Father always simultaneously loved getting mail from Dol Amroth, because it meant one of your far too infrequent letters to Arwen might have arrived, and hated it, as trade negotiation correspondence with Prince Adrahil was always painstakingly difficult for Ada and Erestor. They finally had Mel start reading all of Adrahil's letters first, and outlining the points that Ada could not agree to. And those included statements as mild as 'the weather has been poor this year.' Elsewise, the canny old Sea Fox would use them to insist on added concessions from Ada." 

"That's ridiculous!" Magordan objected, having apparently nominated himself to follow Aragorn about. 

Elladan shook his head, his eyes still dancing, "You agreed the weather was bad." Prince Adrahil would reply in his next letter, and then he would write, "So, surely you understand we need an added 2% charge to cover our weather-related expenses." 

Elrohir frowned. "I do not recall that."

Elladan grinned wryly. "There was little chance of us going to war with Dol Amroth over such price raises, brother. You were not interested."

Elrohir shrugged in agreement. Then he turned to lecture Aragorn about what a poor correspondent he had been to his family, sad at his long absence, when Aragorn had been in Rohan and Gondor as Thorongil. 

Aragorn considered pointing out again that he had been incognito, and that Elrohir had not been speaking to him at the time that he first left, but Elrohir had yet to pause for air. 

Aragorn was grateful when Prince Imrahil approached with several other officers, as he was tired of Elrohir's gripes on this subject. Yet, at the same time, Aragorn mourned the previously close relationship he'd shared with Imrahil, who had once been his second-in-command in the battle against the corsairs, some three decades ago. And it made Aragorn miss Imrahil's father, Adrahil. Now, more than ever, Aragorn wished they could have the old Sea Fox of Dol Amroth with them, to help them convince the Lords of Gondor to agree to this suicidal gamble, and then to help them plan it so that it would be worth the cost. 

Well could Aragorn remember his last conversation with Imrahil's father. Standing on the battlements of Dol Amroth castle over Belfalas Bay, the sea breeze blowing their words away, Prince Adrahil had seemed unusually grave. He'd also had trouble beginning the conversation, which was unusual for him. 

At last, he leaned forward and said, "Some people, Thorongil, will tell you that these are the darkest days come upon us. They will say that Isildur's heir should declare himself, if still he lives." 

"Oh?" Aragorn had replied, striving for nonchalance even as his heart pounded in his chest. He'd always wondered whether Adrahil might have discerned his true identity, and he didn't want to bear the sea-prince's disapprobation should Adrahil make an appeal for him to stay. 

Adrahil reached forward to place a gentle hand on Thorongil's forearm. "Do not listen to them. None of those people have seen the evil that sleeps uneasily in Mordor. I have. In my opinion, Isildur's heir should keep his blessed head down, and try to figure out a way to defeat that evil. Isildur's heir's most important job is to stay alive, and train himself well, learning our enemy's ways without becoming like him. At least until Sauron's main lieutenants march on Minas Tirith itself." 

Aragorn stilled. "You don't think that it is desertion in the face of duty? For Isildur's heir to stay away from Gondor?" 

"No, Thorongil, I don't." Adrahil replied, firm and comforting all at once, "The time will come for a suicidal last stand. Not in my day, but likely in yours, and in my son's. But that time is not yet. And if Isildur's heir is killed before that die is cast, I don't like our odds." 

Nodding slightly, Aragorn said, "You've given me a lot to think about.

Adrahil nodded back. "I'll give you some names, men you can trust should you happen to walk towards Harad or Rhun." 

Trying not to be amused as well as unnerved that Adrahil knew of his planned travels, Aragorn asked, "You think that there are answers there?" 

"I think its a good way to learn your enemy, or at least his human face. Learn the paths he walks, and the compromises he makes." Adrahil had replied seriously. 

Adrahil had been right, as had Gandalf. Aragorn's travels in Harad and Rhun had served him well. He would not have been able to lead the Fellowship while best hiding them from Sauron's far-reaching eyes if he had not learned of the Enemy amongst its own conquered peoples. Nor would he have known how to best array his forces as they arrived to the Battle of the Pelennor, nor how to best stagger the ranks of archers at Helm's Deep. 

Aragorn just wished, as he came once again face to face with Imrahil and saw respect and loyalty but not love, that he had been able to explain better to Imrahil why he had needed to leave Gondor, those decades ago. The northern ranger could plainly see the youth he'd once known in the Prince before him. Imrahil's serious gray eyes were even more grave, and his insightful gaze a bit sharper. But his hair was still as dark and his intellect as sharp as ever. And his loyalty, once given, was worth its weight in gold. 

"We are agreed to follow you." Imrahil said briefly, gesturing to the Lords of Gondor who accompanied him. 

That must have been no easy task, Aragorn marveled. Aloud he merely said. "I am honored by your trust. I claim no title, no right to rule. But the Wizard Mithrandir has his plans, and I think it would behoove us to hear him." 

Some of the great nobles were obviously displeased with that plan, but they nonetheless took their places 'round the table in the pavilion to hear it out. Aragorn sat beside Gandalf and Eomer, studying the other faces before him. Many of them he recognized from his long-ago sojourn in Gondor as Captain Thorongil. There was the aged Lord Tyorvondo of inglo Vale, himself a former Captain-General of Gondor. To Tyorvond's left sat the earnest Golasgil of Anfalas, whose household levies were divided between Minas Tirith and supporting the Dol Amroth navy on the sea. Golasgil had been a lieutenant in Gondor's armies when Aragorn had served as Captain Thorongil. He had always respected the younger officer.

Not so the haughty Lord Tarsten. He had always aggressively looked after the interests of his own southern fiefdom, yet his on-going conflicts with Denethor over what was best for the realm had left Aragorn with little sympathy for him. Lord Morcocano of the Serni Vale largely followed his over-lord's lead, but he did seem to do his best to smooth things over. The last noble face Aragorn recognized was that of wealthy, cynical old Lord Sendarion of the Celos Vale. The merchant prince, most often called by his short name of Sendar, gave Aragorn a narrow look, as if recognizing him but not being sure where exactly from. Aragorn did not help him. Thorongil the sell-sword was his past. Now he must lead, not follow. 

His heart heavy, Aragorn noticed the presence of empty seats around the table. Valiant Angbor of Lamedon led his troops protecting the south of Gondor, but a Lamedon representative sat on their council. He did not know where Lord Anborn of the Stonewain Valley was, or whether Lord Calimehtar of the Lithunui had ever made it to the city. Lord Forlong of Lossarnach had perished in the fighting, as had Lord Hirluin of the Green Hills and Lord Duinhir of the Black Root Vale. 

Duinhir's place beside Golasgil of Anfalas was vacant, but Forlong's had been taken by a younger man who had the look of his father. The young Lord Fornost, Aragorn assumed, although Forlong's heir had not yet been sent to court as a page 'ere Thorongil left Gondor, so he could not be sure. Fornost looked to be a little older than Boromir, which would fit. The slender dark-haired youth who wore the colors of the Green Hills was just barely old enough to grow a beard. Aragorn wished that he could find a way to keep the new Lord of the Green Hills home. War was no place for children, but the Lords of Gondor had never led from the rear, and Aragorn had seen faces far younger amongst Gondor's infantry. 

Present also were several of the guild masters. Aragorn recognized only one of them, the powerful and corrupt Master Burgold of the commodities guild. He hoped that Imrahil could help keep the fellow in line. Burgold, and Tarsten as well. 

Clustered around the other end were the senior officers of Gondor's military. Those who had survived, at least. 

Imrahil indicated a tall man with a neat chestnut mustache whom he introduced as the acting Captain-General, Lord Galdoron. Aragorn didn't even recognize the name. 

"Hunh." The blunt Lord Sendar snorted, "Send him back to the nursery. Surely someone older is still standing?" 

The look that young Captain Galdoron bestowed upon Sendar ought to by rights have caused the richest of Gondor's lords to burst into flames. Sendar merely raised an unimpressed eyebrow, while Imrahil counseled his candidate for Captain-General to be calm. 

"It's Galdoron for Captain-General, Sendar." Said Lord Tyorvond querulously, allowing one of the healers to take a look at his bad leg even as he spoke. "It's Galdoron, or Helegair who has never commanded more than a company before. No disrespect intended, Helegair." 

That worthy murmured softly that none had been taken. Lord Sendar shrunk into himself, and several of the other Lords looked shaken as well. "There is truly no one else left?" Sendar asked. 

Tyorvond shrugged. " Or I could come out of retirement. Not really our best option, at this point." The Lord winced as the healer attending him put more pressure on Tyorvond's knee, before shaking his head and rewrapping the limb more tightly. Aragorn remembered hearing from Broromir that Lord Tyorvond had been retired against his will by Lord Denethor due to injuries sustained in combat, and advanced age. The man had already been a senior captain when Aragorn had served in Gondor as Thorongil. 

Gandalf, who had evidently run out of patience, rapped sharply on the table. "In that case, I am sure that we look forward to working with you, Captain." He greeted Galdoron. 

Aragorn himself did not raise an objection. The man was obviously Imrahil's choice for the job, and Aragorn trusted Imrahil. Besides, Galdoron looked to be in his forties, near Boromir's age. Still a young man, for a descendant of Numenor. But Boromir had served as Captain-General, and served well. Imrahil would be there, and Aragorn himself, if the younger man had trouble handling command of the regular army troops or integrating the levies of the individual lords. 

The meeting moved quickly on to the main sticking point, that being Gandalf's plan to take their entire fighting force and use it in a suicidal bid to distract Sauron from Frodo's quest. Aragorn unreservedly endorsed the plan, speaking softly but firmly to gain the support of these people he must lead. Even the lords Aragorn knew well to be honorable men and doughty warriors seemed distressed by the notion. Imrahil himself commented that their plan was the "greatest jest in all the history of Gondor: that we should ride with seven thousands, scarce as many as the vanguard of its army in the days of its power, to assail the mountains and the impenetrable gate of the Black Land! So might a child threaten a mail-clad knight with a bow of string and green willow!'" 

Yet, however reluctantly, the Lords agreed. Gondor's army would march to Barad-dur, Sauron's black tower. Aragorn would lead them, and Eomer's army. And, though their numbers were too small to make much of a difference, the survivors of Aragorn's northern rangers and the Lothlorien archers were to come accompany them as well. 

Reaching that decision, however, was only the beginning. Next, they had to figure out the logistics of HOW this march was to be accomplished. The debate which followed made Aragorn think wistfully of the dangerous wilds he'd spent the last several decades wandering. 

"Are you sure that you want to rule these people, my friend? They seem to have no respect for their King, and no desire to be ruled." Eomer-King whispered softly to Aragorn. Well, softly for a Rohir. Aragorn hid a wince as several of the nearer lords gave them dirty looks. 

"They have learned to get by without a King, over the many years they have been without one." Aragorn replied quietly, "I respect their fortitude, if not their dissension." 

Eomer conceded that dubiously. Rohan's internal politics involved louder brangling, but less of it. Although Aragorn had to correct that thought, as the volume level rose over the issue of where the army would acquire wagons to transport its supplies and wounded. 

"Winning this war doesn't mean anything if you bankrupt us all in the process!" Master Burgold objected. A fair number of the wagons in Gondor were owned or rented, directly or indirectly, by his guild. 

"Having wagons will not do our food suppliers, or anyone else, very much good, if the rest of the country is put to the sword and our fields are even more turned into fire and ash." Imrahil pointed out quietly. Aragorn could tell that his old friend was ready to simply appropriate the wheeled conveyances, as well as anything else the army needed. Imrahil held command of the city and rule of the country until young Lord Faramir was healed, so such was his right. Aragorn wondered to himself what Faramir would make of all this, even as he prepared for the meeting to become even less agreeable. 

"You'll get your wagons, Prince of Dol Amroth." Lord Sendar promised angrily, just before Imrahil could demand them. "We of Gondor know our duty, even those of us who have never served in the army." Sendar nodded across the table at the new Captain-General he'd derided at the beginning of the meeting, and Galadoron nodded back. They looked rather alike, these two very different men, Aragorn thought to himself. Then he started to wonder whether the difficult Lord might actually be more sympathetic to Imrahil and the army at large than he like to appear. Sendar's support ended most of the debates, with the Lords and the guild masters agreeing to turn over foodstuffs and other goods which would aid the allied forces on their way to Morannon, the Black Gate of Mordor. 

Even that did not end the debates, although at the least they moved on to a topic Aragorn knew more about. His decades as a scout and his experiences as Thorongil lent him the expertise to guide the discussion on the routes that the army should take on this bitter journey, although he still left most of the input regarding how the different divisions should be organized and captained to Imrahil and Galadoron. Gandalf ventured his opinion from time to time, the rarity of his deep voice offset by his lack of tact. Aragorn's foster-brothers were also not shy about sharing their expertise, but at least they managed to be somewhat more tactful. Aragorn suspected that Elladan was kicking Elrohir under the table to encourage discretion, at least until Elladan entered into a lively debate with the new Captain of Gondor's heavy artillery about the best way to break down and rebuild catapults. 

But largely it was Imrahil who proved himself indispensable in the course of the debate. Not only in his role as Prince and regent, but also in his being able to offer a few unlooked-for advantages. Small things, but they boosted the morale of the men where little else had. 

Looking to a map of Gondor spread out on the table before them, Imrahil informed the assembled company that "Sauron may well think that a large part of our army is here," the prince indicated a spot near the dead marshes in northern Ithilien," and here " He pointed to a marsh near nothing else of value in southern Gondor. 

Gandalf regarded Imrahil suspiciously, "And why would he think that, your highness?" 

Imrahil blushed, though in the dim lighting it would be hard for most to notice. But Imrahil knew, as Aragorn did, that Gandalf most often called one of his friends by their title rather than their name only when he was chiding them for a perceived misdeed or mistake. 

Elladan was suppressing a smile. Aragorn wondered at that, and at why Elrohir's expression indicated that he badly wanted to know why it was that Elladan was so intrigued by this human. Aragorn rationalized to himself that Elladan was often intrigued by humans with elven blood in their veins, perhaps Imrahil was just another instance of that fascination. 

"Ah," Imrahil began, looking to Aragorn as if uncertain of something. 

It had been over thirty years, but Aragorn still recognized Imrahil's expression as the one the teenaged Imrahil had worn when deciding how much truth to give to his then-commanding officer. "Out with it," the Chieftain encouraged, " a death march is no time to be circumspect, Prince Imrahil."

Imrahil smiled faintly, ducking his head for a moment as if he, too, remembered their shared past, before losing that smile as he explained. "My father and I knew that Denethor had fallen prey, at least in part, to some influence, though we did not know it to be a Palantir." 

Gandalf snorted ruefully. "And Adrahil being the old Fox that he was, he decided to feed Denethor misinformation from time to time, and see what happened." 

Imrahil shrugged gracefully. "That is about the size of it, Mithrandir. More or less. Denethor's staff was under the impression that we had diverted our troop strength thusly in order to counter fictitious instances of the enemy massing in those areas. If the Enemy was getting information from Lord Denethor via the palantir, then his lieutenants should not suspect our numbers. And hopefully, some of Sauron's own forces may have been diverted to those relatively uninhabited locales." 

Aragorn raised an eyebrow. "Pulling that deception off under Denethor's nose must have been no easy thing." Isildur's heir commented, trying to wrap his head around how the intelligent and perceptive Denethor had been hoodwinked, even by the impressive Imrahil. More, the King-who-might-be wondered, how much of his officers' faith had Denethor lost, that such a massive deception had been possible with the Steward left unawares? And who were these officers who were loyal to Imrahil rather than Denethor? Aragorn supposed they must include the stalwart Faramir (as the young captain would probably have noticed that there was no army in Ithilien), as well as the unsurprised young Captain Galdoron, but not the startled former Captain-General Tyorvond. 

Aragorn's former protegee, now the Prince of Dol Amroth, nodded in somber agreement. "It was not easy. But it was done. And our numbers at least should be a surprise to Sauron, though they are still far short of what we would need to constitute a plausible threat. Even if some of his forces and attention will be further diverted elsewhere. At best, it might buy us a little bit more time. We must all hope it might be enough." 

Imrahil had, in essence, just confessed to having committed treason against Gondor's deceased Steward. The faces of the Lords and officers around the table grew somber, as they, too, realized the significance of what Imrahil had done, and Adrahil before him. Aragorn remained silent, in part because he trusted the judgment of the Princes of Dol Amroth, and in part because he remembered what Imrahil had told him upon his departure from Gondor many years ago. 

"Fine. You are determined to leave, and I cannot stop you." Imrahil had said, his youthful face strained and his gray eyes turbulent like a storm-tossed sea, "But I warn you," He had continued, "Don't complain about the decisions we have to make while you're gone, Thorongil. Don't complain about what we become.”

Aragorn remembered, and he held his peace. Knowing, now, that the Prince of Dol Amroth would not face consequences from their possible future King for his treason, others of the Lords and notables confessed to their own actions against the Steward's will. 

Some of those actions left Aragorn feeling conflicted. Lebennin's holding back troops and weapons, and Sendar's failing to pay all of his owed taxes, had not been honorable acts. But neither had they been alone, and Aragorn could not contradict that Denethor had stripped the outlying areas of Gondor practically bare of defenders in his crusade to strengthen Minas Tirith. Nor could he contest that the tax burden Denethor's new laws had imposed upon the merchants had indeed been crippling. And some of those taxes had been specifically targeted at Lord Sendar's operations, in retaliation over his opposition to Denethor on various issues. Still, Aragorn almost wished that he could make an issue of such law-breaking, but this was not the time. 

Other quiet actions on the part of different leaders, including Lord Sendar, while technically constituting malfeasance at the time were nonetheless very welcome news to Aragorn. Lord Tyorvond of the Ringlo Vale had encouraged many of his farmers and other laborers to be trained in the use of staffs, and had paid for such 'commoner' weapons to be produced in mass lots. Denethor had not approved of such strategies, but since the more inexperienced men in Aragorn's new army would be most likely to have used versatile but non-war specific weapons, he was not displeased by having additional trained warriors of whatever stripe, and arms of even so basic a type. 

Lord Sendar, the weapons-smiths, the armorers, the alchemists, the scholars, and the priests had collaborated to create armor blessed by the priests of Eru and all of the ancient methods of protection that the scholars could locate in their archives. Aragorn could tell that Gandalf was impressed, and Elladan intrigued. Such doings had certainly been against Denethor's will - he had not believed in what he labeled as 'fairy stories and hokum.' But Aragorn was very grateful for the fruits of their labor, and the greater protection they might possibly give his soldiers when the time came to battle with the Enemy. 

Aragon's foster-father Elrond had done something similar for his warriors before the War of the Last Alliance. On the other hand, King Thranduil of the Greenwood, Legolas' father, had, during the course of one memorable dinner, expressed his own doubt that blessed weapons would protect anyone better than unblessed weapons. Aragorn would trust Thranduil's opinion over Denethor's, and rather wished that he'd managed to convince Legolas to attend this meeting with him. However, Legolas had expressed his strong preference to spend this brief respite with their companions of the Fellowship, and Aragorn had not had the heart to say his old friend nay. Legolas also did not think himself particularly wise when it came to the councils of humans, despite having a fair wit of his own and having sat on his father's councils since just past his own elflinghood. 

While Aragorn was musing over that, Lord Tyorvond took the opportunity to ask Imrahil, "What were the songs that your Knights chanted during the siege? They seemed to dispel the feeling of hopelessness, for a while." Aragorn looked with interest at Prince Imrahil, as Aragorn's ranger Magordan gave his old friend Lord Tyorvond a censuring look. A veteran who walked with a limp on even the best of days had really had no place on the siege walls, but Tyorvond was a stubborn old soldier, as well as a patriot. 

"They are the old songs, elven songs, celebrating the light, and love, and creation." Imrahil explained, as Elladan, Elrohir, and Legolas nodded in sudden understanding. 

Gandalf's eyes also widened in recognition. "The same that I helped Lord Faramir find and modify for use in battle, many years ago?" Aragorn wondered at the friendship there must have been between Mithrandir and the new Lord Steward of Gondor, as nostalgic as Gandalf now appeared. 

"Aye, the very same." Imrahil agreed, with emotion which looked vaguely like guilt for a moment gracing his features. "When they worked well for Faramir and the rangers in Ithilien, he and Boromir taught them to my sons, who taught them to the Swan Knights and sailors." 

"Finduilas once spoke to Denethor of a similar tactic," Aragorn recalled with a sad smile, "But Denethor was never a believer in such womanly methods."

"No." Imrahil agreed. "Denethor believed strongly that a warrior's strength lay in force of arms. But Denethor was not...entirely in command, during the siege. He did not tell me to have my men cease their singing, and I would deprive them of no defense, even one whose benefit is not physical." 

Aragorn had nodded in sudden decision. "Have your men teach their songs to the other companies of Gondor, Imrahil, and to as many of the Rohirrim as will learn, if it means with your approval, Eomer-King." 

Eomer-King too gave his permission, well disposed to listen to the council of Imrahil, who had played a role in saving his sister's life. Besides that, Eomer was quite sure that the Riders of Rohan would prove much better singers than the warriors of Gondor. The Lord Elrohir agreed with Eomer's murmured boast, and the two won a substantial sum off money from Captain the Lord Galdron, who had stood up for Gondor's honor. 

It took several more hours, but they eventually settled on a path and order of march which satisfied most of the leaders present. Imrahil had a great deal of detailed information to offer about their Southron enemies' order of march, and their deployments, numbers and force mix. From whence this information came Aragorn chose not to question too closely. 

The conference was coming to a close. Aragorn felt it necessary to say one thing more. 

"We all know that the odds against are immense." He said quietly, taking the time to meet the faces of the Lords and Captains of Gondor. "But I have known men of Gondor to succeed, no matter how impossible the obstacle they faced." 

"I had the honor of knowing Lord Boromir, Captain of the White Tower, and your former Captain-General." The crowd had hushed as Aragorn spoke. Looking at their faces, Aragorn could tell that many had loved and respected Boromir, and that even of those who had not, they had mostly liked Boromir. 

"I was honored to know him, for him to be a member of our Fellowship." Aragorn continued, "We would never have come as far as we did without his strong arm and stalwart spirit.   
He showed himself the greatest of warriors in dying to protect our comrades of the shire. Meriadoc Brandbuck, whom Boromir saved that day, later aided the Lady Eowyn in slaying the Witch-King before these very walls. Meriadoc received his training in the word from Lord Boromir." 

"Boromir," Aragorn continued, "Fought on long enough to save two lives. Long enough for it to matter, even though he faced an entire company of orcs and uruk-hai. I think that we, his countrymen and allies, can do the same. Can fight on long enough for it to matter. It is the right thing to do, for our people, for everything dear to us, and for the memory of Boromir." Aragorn raised a fist and placed it over his heart. "For Boromir." He pledged. 

"For Boromir." The men of Gondor and the Rohirrim and the elves all echoed. 

As the meeting broke up, Lord Tyorvond limped over to Aragorn to ask, "Did Boromir know who you were? That you are Isildur's heir?" 

"He knew." Affirmed Aragorn. 

Tyorvond regarded Aragorn cautiously. "Boromir was convinced that the time of the Kings had passed." He remarked. 

"He was, when first we met." 

Imrahil, close enough to hear their conversation, softly asked, "And by the end, Lord Aragorn? What did my nephew say, then?" 

"He swore to me his fealty." Answered Aragorn, "He was the first man of Gondor to do so. And his brother was the second. I am honored by their trust and loyalty, and I mean to do it justice." 

Tyorvond and the other leaders of Gondor who had been close enough to hear the exchange seemed much taken by it. Gradually their numbers diminished, such that Aragorn could speak privately with the Prince of Dol Amroth. 

"That was well-done." Imrahil observed with careful neutrality. 

Aragorn snorted lightly. "It was sincerely meant, Imrahil. Your nephew was a good man. And you know that I am not politician enough to have judged it to be what they wanted to hear." 

It was Imrahil's turn to unsuccessfully hide a moment of humor, "Well, unless you've changed markedly, that is the honest, by-the-Valar truth." 

Elladan gave Imrahil yet another intrigued look. "I do believe that you've just been insulted, baby brother." He said to Aragorn. 

"Stop gossiping like geese." Gandalf commanded them, a Prince, a King, and a great Lord's son. "I must have words with you, Aragorn, and with you as well, Imrahil."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	4. In the Wake of Pelennor Fields: Chapter 4: Contingency Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lord Aragorn learns that Mithrandir is still irritatingly otherworldly, Imrahil is still entirely too serious, Eomer is still unaware of nuance, and Faramir is not Middle Earth's best patient.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you very much to everyone who reviewed and left kudos. Your support is most sincerely appreciated. This chapter didn't end the way that I had expected, but I liked it enough anyway. The next chapter will take place on the way to the Black Gate. 
> 
>  
> 
> Quotes: 
> 
> "Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work: You don't give up." - Anne Lamott
> 
> "That is a fair lord and a great captain of men. If Gondor has such men still in these days of fading, great must have been its glory in the days of its rising." – J.R.R. Tolkien, Legolas speaking of Prince Imrahil, The Return of the King, The Last Debate
> 
> Excerpt from previous chapter:
> 
> "Stop gossiping like geese." Gandalf commanded them, a Prince, a King, and a great Lord's son. "I must have words with you, Aragorn, and with you as well, Imrahil."

"We will take our leave of you, then." Elrohir said, politely excusing himself and the reluctant Elladan. Aragorn felt a little sorry for his foster-brothers. Both were curious as cats. Elrohir just hid it better. 

"You may find us in the House of Healing, Estel." Elladan offered, apparently having decided to accept their exclusion from Mithrandir's confidence with good grace. Aragorn was proud of him. 

"Thank you, sons of Elrond. Perhaps you might take Eomer-King with you. I am sure that he is anxious to see for himself his sister's continued recovery." Gandalf offered. 

"Eomer-King should stay." Imrahil said, quiet but firm. 

Clearly irritated, Mithrandir looked to Aragorn for support. 

Young and hot-headed though Eomer was, Aragorn thought he'd earned a place at the table. Of course, if Eomer later ended up indiscreetly spilling whatever secrets Mithrandir was about to impart over his ale, Aragorn would feel like a fool. But it was a chance he was willing to take. After all, Eomer's grandfather had once taken a similar chance upon Aragorn, when Thorongil had sojourned in Rohan as a youth of Eomer's age. 

"Stay, Brother." Aragorn invited Eomer, his choice of address for Eomer leaving Mithrandir with no choice but to concede. Which the Wizard did, with an irritated snort. Aragorn could practically hear Elladan commenting, sotto-voice, 'Second-born children!' Although to be fair to Mithrandir, Aragorn had only ever heard him say, 'Children.' 

Gandalf waited until the room had completely cleared, and until Captain Magordan had confirmed that there was no one within hearing distance outside the tent. 

"As you all are aware....or at least as most of you are aware," Gandalf corrected, glancing with a raised eyebrow towards Eomer, who flushed and then raised his chin stubbornly. Gandalf raised a busy eyebrow, before continuing, "There are two lines of men whose blood carries the virtue of the elves." Gandalf nodded towards Aragorn, "The line of Elros Tar-Minyatur, brother to Lord Elrond, and the line of Imrazor." Gandalf nodded now to Prince Imrahil. 

"The line of Imrazor is more properly the line of Mithrellas, the elven maiden whom he wed and whose blood flows in the line of the Princes of Dol Amroth." Gandalf turned to Eomer again, "And through your grandmother Morwen of Lossarnach, the daughter of a Princess of Dol Amroth, that blood flows also in you, Eomer-King." 

Gandalf considered them all solemnly, "Aragorn's heritage is more powerful, though it is more distant, because Elros Tar-Minyatur was the son of Lord Earendil and Lady Elwing. But Mithrellas was not an elleth to be taken lightly. For the space of a season, she was a ring bearer herself. She carried Nenya safely from fallen Eregion to the Lady Galadriel in Lothlorien, a long journey through an Eriador at war." 

Eomer frowned, "I don't see what any of this ancient history has to do with the war we face." Aragorn sighed. 

"Oh, no?" Gandalf queried wryly, "Then perhaps you are not aware, Eomer-King, that your sister owes her life to being Morwen's granddaughter?" 

"Ah." Aragorn commented softly, cutting short a heated reply from Eomer. "I had wondered about that." 

"Once I knew who she was, I thought it fairly plain." Imrahil commented quietly, giving Eomer a reassuring smile. "In our family, such protections as our elven heritage still grant us run most strongly along the female line." 

"With your nephew Faramir being the exception that proves the rule." Gandalf commented briefly, "That, however, was not my point. I..."

"How well do you know young Faramir?" Aragorn interrupted. He would not normally interrupt the Wizard, but Faramir was already important to Aragorn. 

"Quite well." Gandalf answered shortly, clearly a bit out of sorts at having been interrupted. Then his eyes narrowed thoughtfully at Aragorn, and he added, "You and Faramir are actually very much alike, in certain ways, Lord Aragorn. Now, if I may continue..."

Aragorn blushed faintly. "Yes, please do, Mithrandir." 

"My reason for telling all of you this," Gandalf continued, "Is to recommend that Aragorn leave a private will, to be opened in the event of his death, leaving the Kingship - not the Stewardship but the Kingship - of Gondor to Lord Faramir in the event of Aragorn's demise." 

"That..." Aragorn spoke through his shock, "Sounds reasonable enough." The little he had seen of Faramir had impressed him greatly. 

"I have no objection." Imrahil said stalwartly, confirming Aragorn's impression that Imrahil held his younger nephew in great esteem. 

It was Eomer who had the only protest, and it was not even a protest so much as, "For what purpose? If we fall at the gate, if the halfling Frodo fails to destroy the ring, then what would Lord Faramir be King of? What could a fallen archer - or anyone- possibly do to salvage that situation?" 

Gandalf gave the King of Rohan an unimpressed look. Aragorn winced internally and made a mental note to speak to Eomer about tact, and wizards. And operational security, as well, which was Mithrandir's next point. 

"I am quite sure that I don't want to know anything specific about what Faramir might do with such authority." Gandalf said sardonically, "since I am going to the same place you are." 

Eomer frowned, "I'm not sure what that has to do with anything? Why shouldn't we know what will be happening in the city if we fall?" 

"Peace, young King." Imahil said kindly, "What the Wizard means is that we might be taken as captives by the enemy, and in such dire circumstance, the information could be forced from us without our consent." 

"No true Rohir would ever permit himself to be taken alive!" Eomer disagreed. 

"Your sister would have been." Gandalf pointed out heartlessly, "Had we not won the day. They would have taken her body as a prize, and when they found out that she still breathed they would have tortured her mercilessly for any scrap of knowledge she might have, and then after that solely for the dark joy of it." 

Aragorn patted the shoulder of the now white-faced Eomer. "It is good that we won. And we hope to prevail at the Black Gate, at least for long enough for Frodo to destroy the ring. But if we do not, then it is best that we no little of the plans of those left behind in Minas Tirith." 

Eomer nodded tightly, and then took his leave as soon as their conference proper was ended. Aragorn was quite certain that he would find the new King of Rohan with his sister at the House of Healing. 

"Speaking of those left behind," Aragorn said quietly to Mithrandir and Imrahil, "someone should tell Faramir, about what happened with his father. I do not wish for him to hear from some carelessly gossiping washerwoman." 

"No." Mithrandi disagreed forcefully. "No one shall tell him until he is strong enough to bear it." 

Aragorn held his peace, but thinking back to what he had seen of Denethor in Faramir's mind, the raging Denethor confined within a glass bell, Aragorn thought that Faramir was probably strong enough to handle learning that he had nearly died for his father's madness. 

"He is stronger than you know, Mithrandir." Imrahil said calmly, "I told him this morning." 

"He was awake this morn?" And obviously lucid enough to discuss such a serious matter, otherwise Aragorn knew that Imrahil would not have raised it. 

"Aye." Imrahil's gray eyes showed a flicker of worry and then frustrated affection. "Perhaps you would be so good as to check on him, Lord Aragorn. I fear that he pushes himself to do too much, too fast." 

"You fear that he is himself, rather." Gandalf observed. "Which of course he is. And he should be, Prince Imrahil. We are at war. He will be the leader this city needs, even if he need do it flat on his back in the House of Healing." 

"Yes, we are at war." Aragorn agreed with some asperity, "But he is my patient, and I want him to live. To recover fully, and to do so he must rest." 

Mithrandir's eyes met Aragorn's. It was the first time in many years, possibly the first time ever, that Aragorn had challenged him on not one but two points in the course of a day. At the last, it was Mithrandir who conceded the point, and Aragorn who went to check on Faramir and his other patients in the House of Healing. 

His walk up to the sixth level of the city was less jarring this time. Either the war-scars of the once vibrant city were less shocking having seen them thrice before, or perhaps Aragorn was all that he still must do. 

He went first to Eowyn, to make sure that she - and Eomer - were well. Aragorn had become very fond of Theoden's niece and nephew. He'd known their parents as a younger man, and was beginning to wonder if this was how his foster-kin must feel. To come to know and love successive generations of a family, and to have to watch as they faltered and fell. 

But they were young and strong and brave now, Eomer and Eowyn. Hurting, yes, but still alive. Aragorn would take that as a blessing, and try to do his best to keep them that way. 

The sun poured into the small garden-side room where Eowyn rested. Eomer sat by her side, uncomfortable as only a warrior could be in a woman's sick room. For all his awkwardness, Eomer was trying, Valar bless him. 

Eowyn was pretending to sleep. Aragorn stifled an exasperated, rueful smile. On the one hand, the blonde warrior-maiden was far from out of danger. A sickness of spirit, after everything she had been through, could still stymie her recovery and claim her life. But he found it heartening to see that she cared enough even to pretend to be asleep. If things had been different in Aragorn's life, if there hadn't been Arwen, if Eowyn hadn't been more than young enough to be his daughter....she was someone he could have loved. Could have spent his life with. But once there was Arwen, there had been no one else. Aragorn had never resented that, not even for one hour of one day of their many long years of waiting. But Eowyn was still special, to him. 

He went to her, rubbing her hands and calling her name. That gave Eowyn the opportunity to pretend to wake for the first time. Aragorn's routine healer's questions gave her a few moments to gain her equilibrium, before he squeezed her pale, slender hands, rough with callouses, and gave Eomer the chance to take the lead and engage his sister in conversation. Then Aragorn helped again by kicking Eomer's ankle gently with his boot, to remind the young King that it was his turn to say something. 

Eomer cleared his throat awkwardly. "Eowyn, I....I know that you were not supposed to be here. That Uncle forbade you, and that we quarreled about it, you and I. But I...I do think that Uncle would be more proud than angry...you were to have been Theodred's shieldmaiden, before Grima persuaded Uncle otherwise. Its selfish for me to say so now - maybe Theodred wouldn't have died that day if you had been there...but Eowyn, I am glad you did not die with Theodred. And I am glad you did not die with Theoden. I need your help, and more than that, I just need you. I love you, my sister. You are all I have." 

Aragorn, deciding he was extraneous, went to check on the Steward of Gondor, and then Merry. Faramir first, as he had been the more sorely wounded. The youth's great endurance had been worn down nearly past Aragorn's ability to aid. Only because Faramir had listened to him, had believed him, without ever having met him before...this one, this one had Boromir's strength, and something of his mother's wisdom about him, as well. Ah, Boromir. 

The room in which Faramir lay was not far from Eowyn's. Both were in the western wing of the House of Healing, where the setting sun bathed the hall in golden light. Long, nearly floor-to-ceiling windows reminded Aragorn for a moment of Imaldris. In many human cities, the facilities set aside for the healing of wounds were dark and hushed, but not here in Minas Tirith. Aragorn's foster-father Lord Elrond also believed firmly in open air and sunshine aiding in the healing of wounds. Elrond may well have helped to design this House - perhaps Aragorn would ask him, if they all survived. 

Loud voices brought Aragorn rudely back to the present. Well, perhaps they were not 'loud' so much as clamorous and insistent in tone, far more so than was proper in a building where lay so many wounded. Aragorn picked up his pace, determined to remind these visitors of proper etiquette in a place of healing. 

"It is simply not possible to make all of these reassignments before the army leaves!" A somewhat familiar voice hissed. 

His companion grunted noncommittally, and then offered, in the tone of voice of one who was not particularly sympathetic and not really trying to help, "I'm sure that you're underestimating yourself, Lord Hurin. My Prince and Lord Faramir both speak very highly of your organizational abilities, as did the late Lord Steward."

"No one could accomplish this, Sir Bellasaer." The first voice replied emphatic yet weary resignation. "And for Lord Faramir to then require us to begin renovations which aren't even immediately necessary just as soon as the armies have departed - why, it defies logic!" 

"An, defying logic. One of those charming quirks which show up every now and again in scions of the Dol Amroth line. Probably as a result of too much in-breeding." Replied the second man, presumably Sir Bellasaer of the Swan Knights. He then offered, "If you'd like, Lord Hurin, I could ask Prince Imrahil to loan you the services of Prince Amrothos for a few days?" 

"Ah...no. No, I think that what's left of the Steward's staff and I can manage." Hurin answered hastily. 

"Are you sure?" Asked Sir Bellasaer, again in the tone of one who wasn't really trying to help. "Prince Amrothos is extremely efficient...." 

"Gentlemen." Aragorn interrupted, turning the greeting into an indictment. The two men ceased their conversation immediately. Lord Hurin Aragorn recognized, now that he saw him again. Hurin was one of Denethor's nephews by marriage, the son of one of the former Steward's brother-by-laws. Hurin had been a young officer in the city guard when Aragorn had served in Gondor as Thorongil. Now Hurin held the position of Minas Tirith's Keeper of the Keys, and would be Lord Faramir's de-facto regent once Prince Imrahil left the city. 

Bellasaer turned out to be an impressively tall and hugely built man with reddish-brown hair and gray eyes. Numenorean gray, which took Aragorn a moment to realize, for Sir Bellasaer's eyes danced with poorly-hidden joviality, and Aragorn was so accustomed to such gray eyes being solemn. Like Elrond's, or Arwen's, or his own. Or like young Lord Faramir's. The same injured youth whom these two fools had been pestering. And despite Aragorn's very clear orders that the new Steward be allowed to rest and regain his strength. Aragorn may not yet have claimed the title of King, but he was more than due the title of healer, and this defiance had him quite incensed. 

"Unless the two of you have come here to seek a healer for a hurt of your own, or to visit a patient who did not spend yesterday on the threshold of Mandos' Halls, then you should take your leave." Aragorn instructed them sternly. 

Both men appeared much abashed. At least until a weak voice from inside Faramir's room called out, "Please, my King, do not be wroth with our good Lord Hurin and Sir Bellasaer. They were but doing my bidding." 

Aragorn was faintly impressed. In just a few words, barely above a whisper, Faramir had managed to convey both his support of Hurin and Bellasaer and a mild criticism along the lines of, 'though they needn't have been doing my bidding quite so loudly.' 

Aragorn thought that he might detect some well-hidden amusement, as well. Almost the same way that Aragorn's mother had once hidden her smile after letting Lord Ingloren and one of his human assistants know that she'd overheard them complaining about her insistence that they clean up all of the insect-killing foam out of the Last Homely House before Lord Elrond's guests arrived. 

Lord Hurin and Sir Bellasaer, now that they knew it was the future King who had ordered them to leave the Hall and let Faramir rest, hastened to obey that instruction. That left Aragorn free to deal with the new Steward, which was ideal from his point of view. He wasted no time opening the door to Faramir's chamber. There Aragorn leaned against the door frame, surveying the youth upon the bed with apparent casualness. Faramir certainly looked better than he had the day before. Color had returned to his cheeks, and he sat nearly upright against a mound of several pillows. A travel desk with an inkpot sat on his lap, and scrolls were strewn across the surface of his bed. 

The expression on the young man's attractive face was somewhere between repentant and rueful. It seemed to settle upon sheepish. 

"When I told the Warden of this venerable Hall that you ought to rest for ten days, my dear Lord Faramir, this was not what I had in mind." Aragorn said wryly. 

"Ah." Replied Lord Faramir, with a shame-faced smile, "That instruction was directed at Warden Del, my King. He is rather busy today...." 

Aragorn resisted the urge to laugh. "I am sure that he is." He agreed levelly. "Perhaps I might help you to sort out your restful work, so that you may enjoy a healing slumber." 

"I am fine, my King, truly." Asserted Faramir's tired baritone. 

"Ah, now, my Steward. Do not lie to me." Aragorn countered sternly. "The dark rings under your eyes and the fine tremors to your hands tell me quite plainly otherwise. As did the condition I found you in yesterday." Aragorn couldn't help but soften as young Faramir leaned back against his pillows and sighed in tired frustration. "I am glad to see you doing so much better, young man, but I would be remiss as your healer if I let you go on thusly." 

As he spoke, Aragorn lifted scrolls with gentle care from Faramir's bed, delicately sliding them back into the wooden and metal carrying cases in which they had presumably arrived. Faramir winced and reached for one. Aragorn batted the younger man's hand away with a scolding look. Faramir laid back against his pillows again with another frustrated sigh. Aragorn patted the young Steward's shoulder reassuringly, then beckoned a junior healer in from the hallway. 

"Place these in Warden Del's office. I shall speak with him later concerning the circumstances under which his patient the Lord Steward, and his honorable officers, may have access to them." 

Faramir sighed again, as the junior healer acquiesced and obeyed. 

"Yes, my dear young Lord, I do realize that I am making your life more difficult." Aragorn said, sympathetic but also not completely able to hide his own amusement and exasperation, "But again, I am your healer as well as your King. You owe me your obedience as patient and vassal, and I expect that you shall give it. Is that understood?" Aragorn asked sternly. 

"Yes, my King." Faramir answered, and in that moment, he meant it. Aragorn gave the youth a day, perhaps a day and a half, until the army proper left and that resolution to be obedient along with it. There was nothing else Aragorn could do, about that, other than try his best to come home. So Aragorn brewed a gentle sleeping draught, and stayed with Faramir, speaking of quiet, peaceful things, until the sedative took effect. 

With the youth peacefully sleeping, Aragorn took his leave, and sought out Warden Del. Aragorn remembered the new chief healer of Gondor from his own days as a soldier and sometimes-patient in this Hall. Del remembered him too, and seemed to take some private amusement over Aragorn's frustration with an obstreperous patient. Aragorn himself was somewhat irritated that Warden Del had been a more effective deterrent to Aragorn's own short-cutting recoveries than the man was proving to Faramir's, but then Aragorn's way of deeming himself healthy enough to resume normal activities had been to get to his feet and leave. Faramir's seemed to be having scrolls and men sent to him. Still, it was not restful, and so the future-king-who-might-be ordered the Warden to administer mild sedatives to the new Steward as needed for the next nine days. 

After a brief stop in Merry's room to find the hobbit sleeping and Gimli and Legolas playing a very competitive but quiet game of chess, Aragorn decided to leave them to it and seek out his own bed. On his way out of the Hall and back down through the City, Aragorn ran into Imrahil, trailed by several swan knights and one man in the uniform of an Ithilien Ranger. 

"Your nephew is sleeping deeply, Imrahil. At my order." Aragorn informed his former second-in-command, not quite remonstrating. He couldn't be sure that Imrahil had been on his way to conference about serious matters with Faramir. 

Well, at least not until his former protege winced. Aragorn favored Imrahil with a more severe look. 

"Our Captain recovers well, does he not?" The soldier in ranger garb queried with concern. 

Aragorn's mien softened. "He does. But he will recover more quickly and more surely if he is permitted to truly rest." 

"So I have said to him myself." Explained Imrahil, now looking wan and tired as well as worried. "Faramir would have none of it, until I reminded him that he does trust his lieutenants. At which point he wanted to see them, so here I am, and here they are." 

"Ah." Replied Aragorn, partially appeased. 

Imrahil exchanged a weighted look with the ranger, whom Aragorn belatedly noticed was wearing a lieutenant's badge. He did wonder, briefly, why the Prince of Dol Amroth was taking so seriously the opinions of a mere lieutenant, but Aragorn had so many other matters to be concerned with and trusted Imrahil completely, so he let it go. 

"We shall leave our messages for my nephew the Steward with the good Warden, if that meets with your approval, Lord Aragorn." Imrahil offered in the end. 

"Best that we not know too much of what rabbits Captain Faramir is thinking to run, in any event." Agreed the lieutenant colloquially. Imrahil glared at him. 

Aragorn gave his approval to their plan, and left them to their errands, although not without some personal amusement. Imrahil had once been like a younger brother to him, and the Prince had always been prone to being entirely too serious. It was good to see him shaken up a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I would love to hear from you if you've been enjoying the story!


	5. Adventures in Landscaping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Army of the West begins their March towards the Black Gate. Along the way, in Ithilien, they find unexpected succor and aid. And also, a new swamp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you so very much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! Off the top of my head, thank you to Peggy who has kept encouraging me to keep moving with this one, and to Emma, who keeps telling me that it is turning out well enough to be worth the effort. 
> 
> A/N 2: This is the fifth chapter in a story spanning the events from just after the Battle of Pelennor Fields to just before the Army of the West arrives back at Minas Tirith, for purposes of the DH AU. 
> 
>  
> 
> Quotes: 
> 
> "And have you marked the brethren Elladan and Elrohir? Less sombre is their gear than the others', and they are fair and gallant as Elven-lords; and that is not to be wondered at in the sons of Elrond of Rivendell.'" - J. R. R. Tolkien, in Return of the King, The Passing of the Grey Company. 
> 
> "Thus [Aragorn] became at last the most hardy of living Men, skilled in their crafts and lore, and was yet more than they; for he was elven-wise, and there was a light in his eyes that when they were kindled few could endure. His face was sad and stern because of the doom that was laid on him, and yet hope dwelt ever in the depths of his heart, from which mirth would arise at times like a spring from the rock." - J. R. R. Tolkien, describing Aragorn. 
> 
> You sort of start thinking anything's possible if you've got enough nerve. - J. K. Rowling - (Ginny Weasley, on growing up with twin brothers Fred and George)

The Host of the West, as it was coming to be called, traveled swiftly from Minas Tirith to meet the Enemy at the Black Gate. Well, as swiftly as seventeen thousand men, ten thousand horses, and hundreds of wagons can travel, when the men don't really know eachother and most of the disparate armies have never worked together before.

To Aragorn, the King-in-waiting, who was accustomed to traveling the wilds himself as a ranger, it seemed quite slow indeed. He felt almost nostalgic for his early frustration with his hobbit companions and their talk of second breakfast.

Still, Aragorn realized that their pace was actually quite good, even impressive, for their number. He could recall having once led companies of Gondor’s army, some few thousands of soldiers who had moved scarcely quicker than this. That this group was moving as rapidly and smoothly as it was, despite its dozens of different commanders and hundreds of different origins, said something very good indeed about the men who made it up.

Aragorn himself had not commanded a force of more than several dozen since he left Gondor as Thorongil, over thirty years ago, so perhaps the slow start was good, save for the pressure Aragorn felt - they all felt, especially the Wizard -to move swiftly and quickly. To move in such a way as to make Sauron truly believe that they bore the ring, fancied themselves its new masters, and were striding forward confidently to show their mettle, for so they must make Sauron believe, if their distraction was to work. 

It was, in many ways, the worst of circumstances, but having Imrahil beside him again was worth a great deal. It had been over thirty years since Aragorn commanded the Gondorian and Dol Amroth fleet against the corsairs with Imrahil as his second, but it often seemed as if no time had passed at all. Imrahil was competent, sensible, clever and kind. He could almost read Aragorn's mind, and his aid was priceless. Not just to Aragorn, but also to the young Eomer-King, who had so recently lost his uncle. Imrahil, a loving uncle who had quite recently lost a beloved nephew, seemed to take young Eomer to his heart immediately and completely. Aragorn was glad for both of them, as they seemed to be a good influence on one another. 

Imrahil had been instrumental in getting Aragorn's disparate forces to work together. The Dol Amroth levies (including the Swan Knights) and the armies of Gondor had meshed fairly easily. Apparently, the navy of Dol Amroth and the army of Gondor, and their respective associated naval, militia, infantry, and cavalry units, had been cross-training together for quite some time, in anticipation of something rather like this. Imrahil, when asked how this training had come to be implemented, had explained that it was done with Denethor's approval, but that the idea had been his nephew Faramir's and his son Erchirion's. The successful execution of the cross-training had owed much to Imrahil's lost nephew Boromir, for his bonhomie and easy way with people. 

It made Aragorn miss Boromir anew. The young man had been difficult, at times, on the Quest. Arrogant, and too sure that the Ring could bring them victory instead of destruction. But Aragorn had come to love him, for his valor, and his kindness, his loyalty, and his friendship. Boromir had been so full of promise, and his presence on this march would have made a tremendous amount of difference. The men of Gondor respected Imrahil. But Boromir they had loved, as one might love a favorite child, and trusted, as one might trust their greatest champion. 

Aragorn couldn't compete with his fallen friend's memory, and he did them both the service of not trying. Instead, he focused on making their foray go as smoothly as possible, with the end goal of taking up as much of the Enemy's time and attention as possible. Many of these men, and possibly Aragorn himself, were going to die. It was Aragorn's job to minimize that, but more, to make the sacrifices matter. 

So Aragorn busied himself with making final decisions as to routes and orders of march, but also with just listening. He wore his family's true colors, now, and did not hide himself in that way when he met with the other leaders. But he would go to one place and another, still cloaked in gray, walking with but a few friends. Sometimes Gimli and Legolas, or the two of them and Pippin, in which case his identity was either given away by default, or he was completely unremarkable. Sometimes with his rangers, in which case he could go without much notice. Before Aragorn left each new group they encountered, he would doff the cloak, and let those he had met know their concerns had been heard. 

Aragorn had the force begin to divide into parts and move during the order of march. They were not fighting together, but they were learning to move smoothly as a unit, and as distinct units within the whole. Aragorn ordered, with the support of Imrahil and young Captain-General Galdoron, that the forces mustered by each individual Lord, the remaining divisions of Gondor's army proper, the different groups of rangers and elves, all learn how to divide as if driven apart during battle and join another group during the march. Aragorn was impressed by the young Captain-General. He had not known what to expect, but what he had gotten in Galdoron was a patient, detail-oriented leader who had a knack for defusing tense situations and despair with blunt, ironic humor. 

Slowly, mile by mile, the large, disparate army began to gain a sense of common purpose. Not confidence - if the ring was not destroyed, then they were beyond a doubt marching to their deaths. But a quiet certitude and earnest willingness to carry through with this great diversion.

It helped, that Ithilien was at the beginning of their march. Darker places lay ahead of them, but Ithilien was still green and hopeful, despite that encroaching evil. Someone had loved this land, loved it still, and Ithilien held the memory of that love as a defense against all that threatened it, and lent some of its peace and surety to those who passed through its vales and little rivers. Ithilien, and a number of fortunate things that happened in Ithilien, coincided to make it so that the beginning of the March to the end was not so hard, was even a break of sorts between one battle and the next. 

As he went off with some of his rangers and some of the southern rangers to scout out the path ahead not long after their arrival in Ithilien, Aragorn paused. He could almost see, by the roots of an enormous beech tree overlooking the meeting of two little rivers, several human figures. The sunlight shimmered off of the babbling water, and a breeze gently stirred the leaves. 

The figures were still misty, but they resolved into a small, delicate woman. Finduilas of Dol Amroth, whom Aragorn had once loved as a sister. 

Each of her hands rested upon the shoulder of one young boy. The taller was Boromir, and the younger Faramir. As Aragorn watched, Finduilas moved her hands to gesture towards the beech tree. Faramir laid his own hand gently against the bark of the beech tree, his small face frowning in concentration. After a few moments, he cocked his head, as if listening to some faint sound. Then he smiled, and that smile was just as powerful as it had been when Aragorn first found the youth, lost in his own mind. 

"Listen, Brom!" The young boy enthused, taking his brother's hand and also pressing it up against the tree. 

"Is this a jest?" Aragorn heard the ghost of Boromir's voice whisper, over the softly blowing wind.

"Nay, my golden son." Finduilas told him fondly. "Listen." 

Boromir's face, too, frowned with concentration. In that moment, he looked like his father, and Aragorn had to suppress a wistful smile. The Denethor he had been friends with in their youth had been a responsible, just leader and a strategist without compare. They could have used him, on this march. 

Then the shade of Boromir gasped in surprise. "The tree....is, um, humming? Like the breeze whispering through the leaves, but different." 

"It's talking in a different language." Faramir distinguished, "We just don't know the words." 

"I'm not sure that trees use words as we know them." Finduilas corrected. "But feel what the tree feels. Know what it knows. It belongs here, is rooted to this land where your ancestors once lived. All of the orcs of Mordor and our human enemies to the south, they can't take that history away. Remember this, that the trees talk. Remember that the land itself has a will." The ghost of Finduilas looked up and met Aragorn's eyes. "Remember that, and even as you fight, the land will fight, too, in its way, aiding you however it can." 

"It is a handsome tree." Said a familiar voice, startling Aragorn from his reverie. 

"I suppose. If you fancy trees." Gimli replied, clearly less than enthused. 

Legolas' eyes mirrored the green of the ferns at their feet as they glinted with amusement. "The beech tree says that if you want to find the coin you lost yestereve, you should ask me very nicely to go up to the top of that oak tree and rob a magpie's nest." 

Aragorn stayed out of it while his two companions bickered amicably. Legolas was still a little bit sore about the grove of mountain laurel they had encountered this morning, which had possessed the poor taste not to tell the wood elf that he was walking on top of a hidden cave until after he fell through a hole in the rock and got his leg wet just over the top edge of his boot. Gimli had warned them that there was a cave, somewhere under the moss and ferns. 

"Someone loved this land, and it shows." Aragorn reported instead to his part-elven foster-brothers as they appeared like smoke at his sides. Elladan and Elrohir looked at the beech tree, and Aragorn wondered how much they could see of what he had seen, or if they could see more. 

"Good." Said Elladan, inscrutably and uncharacteristically brief. 

"We can use every advantage that we can get." Agreed Elrohir. "Now come, muindor-laes. You should eat dinner before you talk to your Captains and Lords." 

Aragorn listened, because it was easier, and also because lunch had been no more than a quick few bites on the move. He sent Legolas and Gimli to liaise with the Captains of the leading units, as the beech tree had also reported to Legolas that it had been a particularly wet spring, and that paths which were normally clear might be precarious and wet. 

The Captains and Lords were fractious when they met after that day's march, and Aragorn did not blame them. Resources would run tight, with this many people moving this quickly. Fortunately, Ithilien provided a welcome respite, in that respect as well. 

It began with crates of eggs, carefully left on the paths well-known by the surviving Ithilien Rangers. Then there were bags of vegetables and fruits, pouches of dried fruits and nuts, and even larger crates of live chickens. Skinny chickens, but meat was meat. 

Ithilien was supposed to have been abandoned, completely, during Denethor's grandfather's time. The sheer volume of the food which appeared to sustain them would indicate that a fair number of Ithilien's people had stayed, despite that order. 

Aragorn stopped the newly-appointed Captain Anborn of the Ithilien Rangers before he could get even half-way through an implausible explanation about wild chickens and the brave men and women who wrangled them. 

"Thank these generous people for us, and see that they receive tokens to receive recompense when we return." Aragorn commanded, doing his best to hide a half-irritated, half-amused smile. 

"Yes, General." The Captain agreed, with becoming gratitude. Aragorn was becoming rather fond of Anborn. And even more so, when they came across the first of a dozen or so large, dry caves, each containing more than a year's worth of rations for a group as small as the Southern Rangers had been. Someone had clearly been planning ahead. 

Captain Anborn was summoned to explain this additional bit of good fortune, but it turned out that even Imrahil and Galdoron had known about the caves and their contents. Aragorn marshaled his patience to handle yet another bit of planning that the Prince of Dol Amroth and Boromir and Faramir's friends amongst the Captains of Gondor had seen fit not to take official notice of. But he was too grateful for the added provisions to do much more than scold them. Aragorn had forgotten the extent to which an army marched on its stomach, if he'd ever known it - in those days, one of Ecthelion's captains had handled logistics, or one of Imrahil's lieutenants or even Imrahil himself, but in any case, not Aragorn. 

"We'll have to have some of the older dried goods checked, to make sure that they have not gone bad." Captain-General Galdoron warned. "For we started stockpiling these rations nearly two decades ago." 

"That long?" Murmured Gandalf thoughtfully. "That would be approximately the winter that Lord Faramir and I spent reconstructing how much time, and how many men and elves the armies of the Last Alliance lost while marching - and starving - through the burnt-out entwives' nurseries, on their way to Mordor?" 

Galdoron acknowledged that with a confident grin. "Aye, about then." 

Most of the rations were still good, if not particularly tasty. Aragorn recognized them as the type of foodstuffs which might have been left over in the different garrisons at the end of a year. Somehow, it had all been saved, and sent to the place where it could do them the most good. 

Despite all of their unexpected good fortune, Aragorn was aware that they were running a real risk of fatigue, with his rangers and scouts. Denethor's order that the Ithilien Rangers defend the ruins of Osgiliath had doomed most of that fine group of men. The survivors were few and tired, yet still doing their best. They knew this land, and Aragorn needed them. He did his best to bolster their numbers with the Northern Rangers, Legolas, and the few dozen surviving Lothlorien elves. Though their leader, Lord Rumil, had been too badly injured by an axe-wound to the head to accompany the army to Minas Tirith, he had asked those of his people who were willing to go in his place. All of the elves who could march had consented. They were led by the ancient warrior Faronglas Sinyefalion, whom Aragorn had never seen before without Lord Rumil at his side. 

Aragorn did not have long to be off-put by that incongruity. One of the other things that the Army found in Ithilien was Lord Rumil, and approximately a company's worth of newly healed or mustered Rohirrim. 

"We got bored in Edoras." Rumil related cheerfully, his lazy position on the horse appearing merely an affectation to those who did not realize that it concealed true weariness and pain. Faronglas clearly did not miss that, and the look he favored his young Lord with would have been enough to set even wet grass afire. 

Elrohir and Elladan appeared merely resigned. 

"Ah, my first real patient, yet again." Elladan greeted Rumil, "Let's take a look at that head, Uncle, shall we?" 

While the army paused to incorporate their newly met brethren into the marching order, Aragorn listened with half an ear to his companions' conversation. 

Gimli looked between the light brown-haired Rumil, who resembled Legolas more than the dark-haired Elladan, and asking "Rumil is your twin cousins' UNCLE?"

Legolas, smiling, "Yes, but not by blood. Rumil and his brothers were adopted by my cousins Celeborn and Galadriel, who are the grandparents of the twins and Lady Arwen. Therefore, Rumil is Elladan's youngest uncle, at least by adoption. And they have always referred to eachother as such." 

Rumil spent most of their time in Ithilien moving between a wagon well cushioned with hay and blankets and Faronglas' arms before a fire, but he was stilll good-natured. And a force for unity and bonhomie between the elves and all of the other races and kingdoms of men. Rumil was one of those beings who had a way about him, such that no endeavor seemed hopeless when he was in their midst. 

Aragorn had not forgotten that Sauron may well have sent an army to the north and east of Ithilien. 

"It is likely that we will be able to manage whatever forces he has deployed with little bother, Lord Aragorn." Imrahil reported, with a patient look on his face which Aragorn recognized as masking exasperation. An exasperation which often manifested for Imrahil whenever Aragorn - and the army as a whole- learned about something new that had been going on in Ithilien, without any official notice having been taken of it. 

Aragorn leaned back in amusement, although he kept a straight face. He did not really mind, for the most part, these little bits of Ithilien-centered good fortune, however unexpected. Nor was he any more than slightly upset with not knowing about them ahead of time. But it was very amusing to him to see his normally solemn and responsible second-in-command and long-ago friend so discomfited by it all. Aragorn got the feeling, at times, that Imrahil really wanted to be shaking Captain Anborn's and Lieutenant Dervorin's shoulders until their teeth shook. That, or giving his nephew Faramir one hurricane of a lecture. 

Dervorin, however, as a mere lieutenant was not generally invited to their councils. And Anborn seemed content, even relieved, to let Imrahil explain whatever this was. 

"And why is that, Imrahil?" Aragorn asked, after letting Imrahil stew for a minute. 

Imrahil smiled fiercely. "Because we've had nearly a decade to lay out a welcome mat for them." 

"Ah." Aragorn said, and prepared himself to be surprised. 

They came to the place where the rangers had thought it most likely that an ambush would occur. The scouts circled around, reported the presence of a smaller-than expected enemy force. Aragorn deployed the lead companies of his army cautiously, but the enemy surrendered much more quickly than he would have expected. And there were not, as he had expected, more of them hiding around the next bend of the river. 

The orcs and men they had captured did not even try to run back from the way they came. The very sight of these demoralized Orcs, Haradrim and Easterlings was quite heartening to the men of the Army of the West. 

When they set to finding out what had happened before they even met up with the traumatized enemies, they learned that they were the only survivors of what had once been a much larger force. One which had been decimated not only by the traps set by the rangers and the men Aragorn had sent off, but also by a dangerous swamp, and the fierce biting creatures and monsters which dwelled within it. 

This time Aragorn was not entirely able to hide his smile as Imrahil stood before him, once again exasperatedly having to explain and defend something he'd clearly known nothing about before their march began. And a fascinating explanation it was, too. 

Imrahil had brought along both Captain Anborn and Lieutenant Dervorin, so Aragorn directed his follow-up questions to them. 

"You made....a swamp." He asked, concealing an incredulous smile. 

"Just a small one." Anborn defended. 

"Really, more like a marsh." Dervorin agreed. 

"And you chose to 'make' your new marsh in the precise valley which every invading army would have to cross, or else spend an additional two days in traveling?" Aragorn continued. 

Anborn nodded earnestly. "We moved a river, let it go stagnant, added things that would be good for fertilizing land, but, ah, bad for marching through it, added more water from time to time, and let it sit. And, umm, we added beavers. And alligators, and certain frogs. And, ah, snakes. Lots and lots of snakes."

"Alligators....and crocodiles!" Imrahil muttered, frustrated, as if just putting something together.* 

Dervorin grinned broadly. "Have you ever tried to convince a beaver to take up residence in the nice new wetland you were making for them, Lord Captain Aragorn, Sir?" 

"I must confess that I have not, Dervorin." Said Aragorn, who didn't mind the lieutenant's cheeky remarks. 

"Nasty, stubborn, biting creatures, beavers." Dervorin complained. 

"I would have thought that the snakes and alligators would have been a greater challenge." Marveled Legolas, 

"Not at all, Your Princeliness." Dervorin remarked with another bright grin. Aragorn saw Imrahil's hands twitch with annoyance. "A man expects to have to mind himself around alligators and snakes. They've a difficult, unpleasant reputation. Beavers, now. Beavers look cuddly, and reasonable." 

The marsh had saved them having to fight a hard battle before they even left Gondor's borders, but it did look like it was going to cost them some extra travel time. The rangers had built pontoon bridges and hidden them in nearby caves, but there were not quite enough for the Army of the West. As they'd come upon the remains of the enemy army late into the afternoon, Aragorn and his Captains determined that they would spend the rest of that day preparing to cross the marsh and learning as much as they could from the captives. 

"Handy fellows, you rangers." Gimli noted approvingly as he tested the planks of a bridge. 

Dervorin laughed. "Well, most of us." He noted, with a glance and a wink towards a pile of discarded timber in the back of a cave which had, apparently, once been a bridge. 

The rangers were less amused to learn that the marsh had apparently spread several miles in either direction further than it had originally been intended to cover, and indeed than it had covered the last time that they had thought to survey it thoroughly. 

"It's been a wet spring." Legolas reminded them cheerfully. Aragorn hid an irritated grin. His dear friend did so like to bait others, in such a way that they did not even realize that he was doing so. Gimli, at least, was starting to catch on. He kicked Legolas under the table to discourage him. 

"Your Captain Faramir is sometimes too clever for his own good." Said Gandalf disapprovingly, when he learned of the extra two hours' march the expanded marsh was expected to cost them the following day. "It is somewhat hard to keep a marsh where you had intended it to be." 

"How many marshes have you created, Mithrandir, to have become such an expert?" Elladan asked with good humor. 

"None. Because I have more sense." Gandalf replied quellingly. 

The Elrondionnath were, by their fundamental nature, unquellable. Aragorn looked forward to the next day, even as the rangers hurriedly dispensed bug-deterring lotion throughout the ranks of the army.

To Aragorn's relief, the trip through the marsh was nowhere near as grueling as they had expected. The rangers had an excellent idea of the paths which could bear horses and where to put their bridges. Most of the bugs, beavers, and even alligators seemed disinclined to stir themselves to bite or otherwise impede the soldiers. In the end, the whole army managed to clear the spread in just a few hours longer than it would have taken them to clear a like distance of normal forest ground. 

That is not to say that the trip was without its notable moments, however. At one point, a pack of a dozen orcs came bursting out of a bog-hole. Covered in mud and biting flies, their war cry was still enough to cause grown men to falter. Until, at least, they were attacked by a good thirty angry waterfowl. After that, the orcs were fairly easy to dispatch. The trouble was more making sure not to hurt their winged allies, but the geese cleared off as soon as they realized that arrows were flying. Almost as if they had done this before. 

"We've done this before." Captain Anborn confirmed, that next evening, in response to a query from Elladan and Elrohir. Aragorn's twin foster-brothers had been utterly charmed by the attack waterfowl. 

"Hmm. Animals are not normally...so willing to do this type of thing." Ganadalf said gravely, tapping at his pipe. 

"Who can fathom the mind of a beaver?" Asked Lieutenant Dervorin airily. 

Gandalf raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Beavers aside - and perhaps they have good reason to dislike you, Lieutenant - I sense the fine hand of my fellow Wizard, Radagast the Brown." 

"Yes." Captain Anborn confirmed solemnly, after glaring at his fellow officer to quiet him. "Radagast came, and spoke with the animals." 

"He would not normally meddle, in such a thing." Gandalf said, as concerned and surprised as Aragorn had ever heard him. "Radagast would not normally just...help animals to make changes to themselves, in such a way, and then leave them." 

"Captain Faramir asked him to." Captain Anborn explained stolidly. "Said that they were dead, or worse, anyway, if Mordor pressed through here." 

"Hmm." Muttered Gandalf, still greatly troubled.

"If it helps," Offered Lieutenant Dervorin, solemn for perhaps the first time since Aragorn had met him, "They took only volunteers. There are no conscripted geese, no gang-pressed beavers. The crocodiles weren't interested, so they went with Radagast back to the seashore." 

Imrahil sighed,* and Gandalf looked only slightly reassured. 

"It was really the cats who managed to make the whole thing work." Dervorin continued, playing to his audience again. "Without Ouch and her furry minions, I don't know as we could have ever kept the moles and the fish in line." 

"You had...a cat. The Rangers of Ithlien had a pet cat. Named Ouch." Murmured Elladan, with a beatific smile on his face. 

"She was a mouser." Captain Anborn said defensively. 

"Of course she was." Agreed Elrohir, equally as charmed as his twin by the notion. 

"We named Ouch's last kitten Smaug. She made this little growling/roaring noise when she sneezed." Dervorin continued. 

"Dervorin!" Snapped Imrahil, "Relevance!" 

"They seemed interested!" Dervorin protested, "After all, your princeship, in the name of strengthening cross-cultural alliances...." 

"Go find yourself an errand to run, or I will." Imrahil ordered firmly. Dervorin wisely obeyed - when the Prince of Dol Amroth spoke that sharply, it was best to listen. 

Later that night, Aragorn took a seat beside Gandalf at the campfire. 

"I marvel that Radagast and Faramir were able to recruit so many valiant creatures to stop an army for us." Aragorn observed softly, "But I worry that doing such a thing might have cost your friend and fellow-wizard quite dearly." 

Gandalf sighed thoughtfully. 

Legolas, Gimli and the twins were all paying attention now. 

"Mithrandir," Said Legolas worriedly, "I'm afraid that sending animals into battle without him might have...might have broken Radagast." 

"Nothing so dire, Thranduilon, I assure you." said Ganadalf. But Aragorn wasn't sure that any of them really believed him. 

Later that night, Aragorn overheard his brothers and his old friend and mentor speaking softly. 

"It did break him, and you know it. Knew it as soon as you heard what had happened." Elladan observed softly. 

"It would be you, Elladan Elrondion, who asked that question." Gandalf muttered, with resigned, weary irritation. After another deep breath, Gandalf added, "It was not Faramir's fault, or the Rangers, for asking. Nor was it Radagast' fault for agreeing. It does explain his absence, though. I would have expected him to make himself known by now, but he can be..."

"Absent-minded?" Suggested Elrohir. 

"Yes. I thought perhaps that he had just forgotten, and would come to meet us." 

"His deeds helped to turn an innocent valley into a trap which ensnared the better part of an army, Mithrandir." Elrohir pointed out, "That is no poor contribution." 

"And after the war, we will try to help him, if we may, if we live." Elladan offered, "He will hate himself, for failing. Even though he shouldn't." 

"We will see." Said Gandalf, and then even more quietly , "Thank you." 

The next thing that happened along the way through Ithilien which Aragorn had not expected was the sudden appearance of high-quality Gondorian and Haradrim swords, bows, shields and other weaponry and armament showing up to replace lesser quality equipment. Once again, Aragorn asked Imrahil if he could explain this fascinating phenomenon. 

Imrahil's face acquired the by-now familiar expression of exasperation, and he promised to make inquiries. That evening as they discussed the next day's march, Imrahil was able to explain, "Apparently, some of the rangers encountered Haradrim caravans who were, ah, lost. Instead of hindering "innocent merchants," they just deprived them of goods which looked war-like rather than peaceful, and sent them on their way."

"Lost?" Inquired Legolas, amused and intrigued. 

Imrahil sighed, "Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that they were traveling unofficial trade routes too near the rangers' new marsh, which the rangers wished to keep a secret."

Aragorn raised an eyebrow, and fought to keep his lips from twitching into a smile. "I see." he responded gravely. "If we all survive this, Imrahil, I'd like to have a long conversation with "some of the rangers."

Imrahil gave him a thin smile. "Oh, I do hope that can be arranged." 

That evening after their councils broke up, Aragorn asked Imrahil and Captain Anborn to both remain behind. 

"Do be calm, Imrah." Aragorn reassured him, at noticing the well-hidden concern in his one-time subordinate's face. "I do understand that there are....understandable reasons why neither of you have been entirely forthcoming as to what we might meet as we travel through Gondor's one-time garden, now gone wild. But I think that some of the problem stems from the fact that good Anborn himself has only an incomplete picture of all of the contingency plans made in Ithilien for an eventuality such as this." 

Anborn paused uncertainly, then nodded in relief at Aragorn's encouraging nod. "Aye, m'Lord. None of us was to know everything, even Captain Faramir didn't know everything. What you don't know you can't give away, even if you're captured, you see. And the large weapons stashes were Lieutenant Madril's idea, and we didn't remember them until we'd almost passed them." 

"And the small weapons stashes?" Legolas asked with apparently innocent interest. 

"Those are mostly just used by our border-hoppers...erm...." Captain Anborn began to answer before cutting himself short. 

"An entirely necessary occupation, I'm sure." Said Aragorn mildly. "This is not criticism, Captain. The very fact that so many of Captain Faramir's and Lieutenant Madril's and Lieutenant Damrod's plans are still coming to fruition despite their absence speaks well of them, and of you. They are not here, and most of their seconds are not, either, and yet you who remain are still getting the job done, despite your rather junior rank before all of this began. However, I would like you to sit down very carefully with all of your men when you return to your camp, and figure out every advantage and trap that was left behind - or that we might be able to make - after we cross the border and on our way to the Black Gate. Is that understood?" 

"Yes, Lord Aragorn." 

"Very good, then. Dismissed." Aragorn said, with another encouraging nod, as he waved for Imrahil to remain. 

"I am sure that you will have much to speak of with your nephew, upon our return." Aragorn said mildly. 

Imrahil smiled fixedly, but there was love there, as well as exasperation. "Oh, yes." The Prince agreed. After a moment's pause, he added, "I am grateful for your patience, Lord Aragorn. I had not expected all of this, myself." 

It was all that Aragorn could do to stop himself from laughing. "Oh, magically appearing weapons, food, and landscape features are really not that great of a matter, Imrahil. Not compared to, say, finding out that your second-in-command has turned a routine trade-trip into the greatest slave break-out in the history of Men, and later that he's gone off and gotten himself married without his father's permission when he was supposed to be quietly doing MY administrative duties as punishment for that first surprise...." 

The very sober, proper Prince of Dol Amroth was practically blushing, which he well should be. It was over thirty years ago, but Aragorn would never forget his first command under Prince Adrahil, meant to be an easy trip to ease that Prince's young son Imrahil into his first captaincy. 

Aragorn was pleased, after that, that Imrahil seemed at least slightly more relaxed around him. He was sorry, however, to be leaving Ithilien. It was necessary, of course. As they crossed over the border, Aragorn thought he could see, high in the hills, Lord Faramir and his Rangers leaning over a table in a cave. A drawing of a marsh and an army of carved animals lay in front of them, along with markers for traps and hiding places. Faramir stood with many of the fallen, but Anborn and Dervorin were there too. Aragorn nodded to the ghosts of the men who had fought so long to defend this land, and thanked them for their sacrifice. He hoped to be able to do it great honor, in the coming days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This refers to the events of "An Alligator for Yule," in which Boromir asked his Uncle, years ago, for a pair of alligators. And a few crocodiles. Boromir didn't explain exactly why, so this is Imrahil finding out for the first time. If you are interested, feel free to check it out: http://archiveofourown.org/works/214277/chapters/350822
> 
>  
> 
> If you enjoyed this chapter, I'd love to hear from you, feedback is always so encouraging! Either way, thank you so much for reading!


	6. The Long Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Ithilien, the road darkened. But then, they had known that it would. Aragorn, son of Arathorn, bore the burden of knowing that he was likely leading the last great army of men to their doom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is the sixth chapter in a story spanning the events from just after the Battle of Pelennor Fields to just before the Army of the West arrives back at Minas Tirith, for purposes of the DH AU. 
> 
> A/N 2: An alert reader has kindly pointed out that the army's march through South Gondor in this chapter is not geographically correct. For purposes of this story, I am considering "South Gondor," which was once Harondor, to extend all the way up through north Ithilien, in a narrow strip between the Harad Road (marking the border of Gondor) and the mountains. On most of the maps I can find online, South Gondor is only marked to include the land on the other side of the Harad Road further south, near the Poros River. I am fairly sure that I have read various places that South Harad, the no man's land between Gondor and Harad, extended all the way along the Harad Road, but that may be entirely incorrect. Please forgive the error if so. I will probably look into the issue a bit more and later make some corrections and adjustments if needed. Thank you for your patience, and for reading! 
> 
> Quotes: 
> 
> “The commander must be able to change his plans abruptly when obstacles or opportunities appear. If his army isn’t ready and willing to respond to his will, his cleverness comes to nothing.” - Orson Scott Card

The days passed and Ithilien fell further behind them. Everything became harder, as they had known that it would. A foul wind eastward wind met them, whispering of hopelessness and defeat. The allied army rarely if ever saw the sun. Aragorn took to having prayers to Eru sung at every change of the hour, so that all would know when the time passed. It also seemed to help somewhat to dispel the miasma of fear and powerlessness. 

The most difficult burden fell upon their scouts, who ranged far ahead of the support of the rest of the army. Aragorn noticed that, as they moved out of Ithilien and into Harad, the ranger officer most often leading the forays was Dervorin, or one of his men, rather than Anborn or the others who had guided their footsteps though Ithilien's still-green glades. Aragorn also observed that a mere handful of the youngest and oldest rangers, and one of the female rangers, had been left behind in Ithilien. Aragorn made no comment on that, but in his heart he was glad. 

The rangers knew the first parts of what had once been South Gondor very well. These lands were now claimed by the Southrons- the Haradrim - as well as by the people of Gondor. Neither Gondor nor Harad truly had the power to enforce their authority so far from their great cities, and so lawless men and bandits had long ago made South Gondor their home. The Haradrim had greater influence in this treacherous place then did Gondor’s lords. Some of the Southron lords had taken up residence in South Gonodr, and had carved out small fiefdoms by force of arms and fear. Aragorn had traveled these lands once himself, long ago, and he knew them to be more dangerous than Harad, Khand, or Rhun, in their own ways. 

And the Enemy had penetrated deeply here. The orcs and southrons that Aragorn's army had found in the rangers' marsh had marched through here, leaving burnt out towns and ravaged fields behind them. 

It was in South Harad that Imrahil came to Aragorn again, with Dervorin by his side, to report that the rangers had ambushed, killed, and buried a number of Haradrim patrols not far very away from the path of their march. Unearthing the graves produced more Southron weapons, and some additional armor and sundries as well. Aragorn did not like stealing from the dead, even the enemy dead, but the fallen Southrons had no use for their swords or arrow heads. Aragorn's men did. The choice was not difficult. 

What was more difficult, in some ways, was seeing Legolas' pain when they found the giant, partially decomposed corpses of the dead mumakil. 

"Could you not have spared them?" Legolas asked Captain Anborn harshly. 

"If we could have, Lord Faramir would have." The man asserted. 

Aragorn believed that, but it was small comfort to Legolas.

"They were innocent creatures, beautiful and loyal.” The elven Prince protested, “Enough died on the Pelennor." Several had died because of Legolas, because he was one of the only ones, he and Gimli, who could match the beasts and live to tell of it. Neither had counted the mumakil in their count of enemy dead. 

Aragorn was not sure what to say to calm his friend, but fortunately Gimli was willing to give it a go. 

"Eh, come away from here, lad." He instructed Legolas, taking the elf's forearm in a gentle but deceptively firm grip and leading him back in the direction of the main body of the army. "There's naught can be done for them now, my friend, save to win this war and spare them further such service." 

That left Aragorn free to have yet another word with the new Captain Anborn of the Ithilien Rangers. Aragorn was fairly certain that Denethor had not known that his son's Ithilien command was ranging well into South Gondor and even into Mordor. When he had served the old Steward Ecthelion in Gondor under the name of Thorongil, Aragorn himself had been stationed with the Ithilien rangers, once or twice, when he had annoyed Denethor. And he had fought at their side more often, sometimes as one of Denethor's sub-captains. 

"Lord Denethor authorized the forays and more distant ambushes, actually." Captain-General Galdoron informed him, before qualifying that assurance with, "Well, not the first time." 

This was evidently as much a surprise to Anborn as to Aragorn. 

"Please do explain, Galdron." Prince Imrahil invited, tiredly patient. 

Galdoron cast Anborn an apologetic look. "It was mostly between Lord Faramir and Lord Boromir, or between the two of them and Lord Denethor. Near fifteen years ago...." 

"Thirteen and a half." Anborn corrected quietly. 

"Yes, about then, Faramir spoke to Lord Boromir about the opportunity to stop a small army of orcs passing through South Gondor to Minas Morgul. Captain Faramir...." 

"'He was Lieutenant Faramir, then." Anborn corrected. 

Galdoron nodded to that, and then continued, "Lord Faramir convinced Lord Boromir that the rangers could manage to take out the patrol and steal intelligence about weapons shipments and troop movements, and Lord Boromir approved the endeavor." 

"We won that encounter, narrowly." Anborn reported, "The next two such engagements went more smoothly, but the fourth was a disaster. We lost nearly a quarter of our number, in part due to a failure of communication between Lord Faramir and then-senior Lieutenant Cirthon."

Aragorn frowned, "Who was serving as Captain, then?" 

"The Ithilien rangers were between Captains at that point." Lord Galdoron explained levelly, "Captain Andacar had fallen the year before, and an acceptable candidate had yet to be found. Lieutenant Cirthon died in that skirmish, and Lord Faramir became the senior Lieutenant. He was appointed to the vacant Captaincy by Lord Boromir, which appointment was approved later by Lord Steward Denethor." 

That would have made Faramir just under twenty years old, and a Captain, after losing a quarter of his men. Aragorn frowned again. That was an impossible situation to put a young officer into. 

"In any case," Captain-General Galdoron continued solemnly, "Lord Denethor approved both Faramir's promotion to Captain and the excursions over the border. Whether before or after the fact, I am not sure. A lot of what we got up to - the further-out commanders - Lord Denethor would approve post-facto if it had worked, and even encourage us to give it another go, give us what resources he could spare to do that. He didn't have commanders to spare, and he knew it. We stood up for one another, too. If Faramir had been demoted over such a matter in Ithilien, no one else would have agreed to take it, and he might have lost another couple of other Captains. We needed eachother, and he needed us, and we all knew it. 

"That is all true enough." Imrahil agreed reluctantly, "I am afraid to say that we were all keeping secrets from eachother, at least from time to time." 

"It is in the past." Aragorn forgave that, with another sigh, and a feeling of regret at how Denethor had, over time, lost the trust of these men. They had all done well, to hold Gondor. Denethor, and all the soldiers of Gondor. How much better a job could they have done, had Denethor not lost their trust? Aragorn had known very few strategists of Denethor's equal. To have had him working against himself, with half-deceitful information from the palantir...what a waste. 

But they would not waste the advantages that the rangers, and others of Gondor, had won for them. So Aragorn arranged training for the men who were awarded the scavenged southron weapons. Aragorn worried about the less-well trained of his men, and their poor equipment, or even lack there-of. Thus far they had been able to avoid having the less-experienced and less-well armed near the few skirmishes they had encountered. 

Imrahil's spies had a very good idea of the lay of the land as they moved through South Gondor. When Aragorn raised the issue of proper boots and warm cloaks, it was Imrahil who provided the directions to still-standing settlements where merchants and craftsmen would be willing to trade with the Army of the West. Aragorn's brothers were able to solve the problem from there. 

"With what funds?" Aragorn asked Elladan at one point, baffled. 

The twins exchanged a too-patient glance. "With a voucher to one of father's accounts, muindor-laes. Or if not his, one of ours. But Ada will not mind paying for your army, so we might as well save our own gold for other things." 

"Voucher?" Aragorn wondered, "And even Haradrim merchants accept them?" 

Elrohir slapped his gloves against his other hand in frustration. "Estel, did you ever even use the vouchers you were given to father's bankers while you were on your extended world tours?" 

In all honesty, Aragorn hadn't really understood what they were or how they worked, and moreover he'd been too upset with his foster-father's pain over his and Arwen's new romance, at the time. Not relying on Elrond had been a matter of pride, and Aragorn at twenty-five had perhaps had a bit too much of that. 

"I did not think that I should." Aragorn answered his brothers stiffly, "Ada and I were not on the best terms, at that juncture in time." Nor had the twins supported him then, either. 

Elladan cursed softly, "We will apologize to you for that again Estel, a thousand times over in fact, after this war had ended. But..."

"Honestly, baby brother dear," Elrohir continued, "What were you thinking?" 

Aragorn, not wanting to explain that he really hadn't understood the vouchers, even if he had been willing to use them, just told his brothers to do their best to equip his army. And they did. 

That left Aragorn with time enough to personally assist with training his new men in the use of the Southron weapons. He found that he remembered a great deal of how to fight with the curved blades and triangular bows. Imrahil, for one, was surprised at how much Aragorn remembered of the Haradrim and Umbarans, and how they fought. 

"One of the things I learned from a highly capable executive officer was that it is important to know my enemy." Aragorn explained, favoring Imrahil with a fond smile. 

"I never taught you how to use a scimitar." Imrahil pointed out, as Aragorn press-ganged some of his sailors to teach the Rohirrim how the men of Umbar fought. 

"Some of it I learned while traveling through their lands. And some of it I learned as a child." Aragorn admitted, remembering his early lessons with Lord Glorfindel. 

To Aragorn's surprise, the Lothlorien elves Rumil and Faronglas both volunteered to assist the sailors with demonstrating the southron fighting styles. 

"We fought for Gondor in the kinslaying war, with the Dol Amroth levies." Rumil explained, "I was a swan knight once, the blood brother of your second prince Galador and his sister Gilmith." 

"Then you are a swan knight, still." Imrahil told the pale elven warrior with the dark blue eyes, and henceforward Imrahil and the Dol Amroth men honored Rumil as such. 

The brunt of the work now fell on those marching in the front. Their front lines now regularly clashed with small groups of their enemies who had been sent ahead - or left behind - to harass them. The order of their march Aragorn could change, but still the scouts must range ahead. Aragorn took to going with his scouts even more often, as his other duties permitted. There were good reasons for that decision, especially as they began to come upon larger companies of enemy soldiers and orcs. It was good for Aragorn to have the opportunity to judge the strength of the enemy himself before they engaged. Aragorn and his sub-commanders began to rotate the front companies of their march order every day, or after every engagement, to keep the soldiers fresh and to give Aragorn and the other commanders a chance to see how they fared in combat conditions. Being with the scouts gave Aragorn the chance to choose which of his Army's component groups should meet the specific foes which lay ahead of them. 

Aragorn was too busy to notice, but as each of those small skirmishes ended in victory, his reputation continued to improve amongst the captains he led. There had been some grumbling about his expeditions with the scouts, when his commanders first learned of them. That grumbling ceased, and they paid closer attention to his counsel as they came closer to their goal. Possibly, closer to their end. 

It was Magordan and Aragorn's foster-brothers who began to limit the time he spent with the scouts, and to insist that he rest when the opportunity could be made. Aragorn himself increasingly felt the need to do as much as he could as they pressed on toward the Black Gate. This was the struggle he had been born for, and as each mile fell away, he felt more and more focused on what was to come.

As they marched closer to the heart of Mordor, a mind which was alien and awful began to match its might against his own. Aragorn knew it for the Enemy, and knew he could not defeat Sauron in such a contest. Instead, he focused on his burning need to get this task done. The Enemy seemed to mistake that burning desire for Aragorn's having the Ring, and the Ring whispering in Aragorn’s ear of power and success. 

Fencing with the mind of Sauron, gathering information on the ground before them, helping his captains to determine how best to arrange the forces they had to maximize the impact of their futile last stand....all of these matters occupied Aragorn's time and concentration to the extent that food and rest did not seem important. 

There came a time when he began to actively avoid sleep and sustenance. If he slowed down, it gave him time to think, and that was not necessarily a good thing. Aragorn was not afraid that he would lose his nerve if he did - he was too close now. He was committed. But it would allow doubts to plague him, and he did not need that. Besides, these people whom he led, whose ancestors his ancestors had done their best to rule with love and justice, they were relying upon him. There was not enough time to do everything that needed to be done. 

And one of the things which still did need to be done, was to let these men - and a few women- know that he was still listening to them. So he found himself sitting at strange fires, eating just a bite or two at each. A quiet nod, a few moments spent soothing their fears, praising their courage, smiling at their jests, or even just listening...it kept them marching with him, and not just for him. He owed it to them. 

At one of those fires, he looked up to find his brothers beside him. 

"You can't avoid us forever, baby brother-mine." Elladan pointed out reasonably, as Elrohir helped a man to better sharpen a borrowed weapon. 

Elladan traded places with his twin to treat a tradesman-turned-soldier’s blistered feet. 

"Stop spreading yourself so thin." Elrohir said softly into Aragorn's ear, "Or we will see that you do. And you will not like our methods of doing so." 

That, Aragorn could believe for certain-sure. Once a big brother, always a big brother, and Elladan and Elrohir had only failed him once. 

 

Still, Aragorn had many pressing responsibilities, and it was easy to find reasons not to rest. The matter came to a head the next evening, when Elrohir and Elladan appeared beside him and just did not leave. 

Knowing that he could not avoid them forever, Aragorn accompanied his twin foster-brothers back to his tent with comparatively good grace. While Legolas and Gimli led their companions and various visiting leaders in a rousing chorus of competing drinking songs, Elrohir efficiently pulled Aragorn over his hip while Elladan briskly lifted up Aragorn’s tunic and pulled down his leggings. Elrohir spent a good ten minutes spanking Aragorn firmly whilst Elladan spoke softly of the dangers of inadequate rest and nutrition. Then the twins switched places and Elrohir lectured Aragorn about the benefits of better choices while Elladan's hand reinforced their words quite eloquently on Aragorn’s bare backside. 

Aragorn slept that night on his stomach, but he did sleep. In the morning Legolas grinned lightly as his friend winced in the saddle. 

"You did have that coming, you know." The elf pointed out cheerfully, albeit not without some sympathy. 

"I will remember this when next our positions are reversed." Aragorn said, with as much dignity as he could muster. 

After that, Aragorn made a better effort to care for himself as well as his army. There would never be time to do everything that had to be done, which was maddening, but he tried his best. 

"You can only do what you can, when you can." Elladan was prone to reminding him. It was something that Lord Elrond had often told his sons, and it was as true now as it had been when Aragorn was younger, just realizing the great burden that fate had set upon him. 

Lord Elrond’s lectures about keeping up appearances came back to him as well. As the great numbers of the vast hordes of enemies whom they marched toward became more certain, Aragorn had to struggle not to show his own fear and concern about leading so many to their almost certain deaths.

“You are doing well, muindor-laes.” Elladan reassured him quietly, as Aragorn silently berated himself for being coaxed into a slight smile at the jests Legolas and Gimli, and Pippin’s cheeky antics. “It is important to act normally,” Elladan continued, sotto voce, “So that your army will know that all is well.”

“But all is not well.” Aragorn whispered back, through clenched teeth, just barely managing to keep his face pleasant as he did so.

“But admitting that will not help.” Elrohir pointed out, “Sometimes when you command you must pretend that all is well, even when it is not.” 

Elven ears being what they were, the conversation was not entirely private from Legolas. With a quiet word to Gimli, he excused himself to come and sit beside Aragorn.

“I was there, the first time you ventured into Mordor.” Legolas pointed out, “Never did you falter then, nor will you now.”

Aragorn had to laugh at that “Youthful conviction carried me on, then. It seems a life time ago.”

A lifetime ago, for Aragorn, when he and Legolas had first met, and they had saved Elladan and Rumil’s older brother Orophin from a pack of orcs. A mere few decades ago, to Legolas.

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged a complicated series of glances and gestures, before Elrohir nodded approvingly at both of his younger cousins, human and elven.

“You were reckless, Estel-nin, but even then you were careful and wise.” Elrohir praised, “And though Legolas was perhaps too jealous of you at the time to see your fear, you handled it well.”

Legolas made a face at the mention of his envy, but he did not contest the description. By the end of that venture he and Elrond’s last foster-son had been the best of friends, but at the start he had envied Estel’s claim on the heart of his elder cousin and sometimes-mentor, Elrohir. 

“Elrohir is right.” Legolas said, after a moment, keeping his voice low, “Even knowing the risks we face now and how unlikely any it is that any of us will live to tell the tale, you must keep calm and carry on. Plan as if we will soon march back this way, triumphant and alive. Maybe even jest a bit yourself, to show that all is well?”

“Calm is probably best for you, Estel.” Elladan disagreed mildly, considering the matter. “Jocular, well, you were as a child, but you have not been since, and they would not expect it from you. Ada never jested, when we entered into an engagement, nor during the siege of Imladris. But he was calm, and even more his imperturbable self. Few lost hope, or panicked, because we took our lead from him." 

"Our good Captain Glorfindel most often jests, 'ere we go into battle. And grins that lunatic, berserker smile of his. But that is how he often is, and we have grown to expect it. Going into battle beside him, you have faith, but that is his way." Elrohir mused. 

Elladan looked to Legolas, and said thoughtfully, "When commanding, Legolas’ father keeps up a façade of, hmm….”

“Confident but slightly unreachable reserve.” Elrhoir concluded, with a warning glance for his twin. “But that is not you, either, Estel. Just be, hmm…”

“Just be you, Aragorn.” Legolas said, with a slightly amused, irritated look for both of his older part-elven cousins. “You need not be more, nor less. But do laugh at some of Gimli’s jests, and Pippin’s begging enough leftover pieces of armor to outfit Eomer-King’s hounds.”

Aragorn did have to laugh at that, to his brothers’ relief and a quiet, approving nod from Gimli across the fire. “I suppose that I should just be grateful that Pippin has left off the idea of teaching Sir Bellasaer’s monkeys to ride the hounds.”

Legolas smiled in reply, “However reluctantly he has done so.”

After that, Aragorn did his best to remember that part of making a burden bearable, for himself and for others, was not to let it overwhelm him. And he remembered to appreciate those whose bright spirits remained unrepressed despite the grim situation. He was very glad of Pippin, and of Legolas and Gimli and their increasingly put-on yet entertaining arguments. And of Rumil, and Imrahil’s minstrel-knight Bellasaer, and the always-cheerful prankster Lieutenant Dervorin of the Ithilien Rangers.

Imrahil and young Captain-General Galdoron had been doing their best, since the beginning of the march, to help as much as they could with the duties of leading and managing so many men. As the army marched ever closer to Mordor and the demands upon those gentlemen became even more pressing, his twin brothers and his companions of the Quest stepped in to help as well. 

At one point, Elrohir charged Legolas with crunching the numbers of which Lord's levies would be better used as bowmen as opposed to infantry in the initial engagement. 

Legolas sighed, but accepted the assignment without further demur. 

 

"I was there for the last of those skirmishes." Gimli offered gruffly, "I'll help ye, elf." 

Elrohir gave Aragorn’s dwarven companion a skeptical look. 

"Oh, so ye dinna think that dwarves are capable of such task, or that I can be trusted with it?" Gimli objected heatedly, "Well, I'll have you know..."

Elrohir started laughing, which made Gimli cut himself off and stare at Elrohir in confusion. 

"No, no, son of Gloin, that is not the problem at all." Elladan explained good naturedly. "That would be our maternal grandfather's side of the family. Or, hmm, I suppose also our paternal grandmother's...." He trailed off thoughtfully. 

Gimli muttered something uncomplimentary about high-born elves and inbreeding. 

Legolas sighed, "Yes, and how many times over again are you related to your King Dain, my axe-loving friend?" 

"Enough, children." Elrohir spoke, his gray eyes still twinkling. "I did not mean any offense, Lord Gimli. It is merely that Legolas is my kinsman, I can impose upon him in this manner, when I would hesitate to press a comrade into such service." 

Legolas sighed again, although Aragorn thought that he was probably secretly pleased, at least a little bit. It did show Elrohir's trust, after all, and Legolas very much looked up to Elrohir. 

"Humph. Well, ye may impose upon me too. For we are friends, are we not?" Gimli pointed out. 

His noble features softening, Elrohir agreed, "I suppose that we are. Here, you can take the left flank. And you can look over what Legolas comes up with when he's done. His long-division on the stores of hay required for the Rohirrim was just appalling." 

"I really don't like you right now, Elrohir." Complained Legolas. 

Elrohir's only response was a toothy grin. 

In such a way did time seem to pass slowly yet too quickly, until their first look at the Black Gate and the forces arrayed against them was upon them. 

Aragorn was scouting with Magordan and his brothers at the time. 

"Here, drink." Ordered Magordan, passing Aragorn a flask of tea mixed with a stimulant. 

"It is odd." Aragorn murmured, as he obeyed, "I feel as if...well, almost glad, to be here at last. To finally have an end to it, soon. Oh I am also worried, of course. Mostly that I am leading us all to our deaths...." 

"I understand, Aragorn." Elladan assured him. 

Magordan offered, "We follow you willingly, you know, young m'lord." 

"I do know." Aragorn replied, still feeling guilty at how much following him had cost his rangers, and the men of Gondor, and many others who had thrown their lot in with him, over time. And at how much it might be costing two small hobbits, even now, although he quickly moved his thoughts away from them. His heart was with them, as Sauron was not particularly interested in Aragorn's heart. But his thoughts, he kept away from his small friends, for the Dark One was apt to probe Aragorn's mind, if he could, at any time. 

Magordan cuffed Aragorn gently about the head, "Then stop tormenting yourself. Speaking for myself, I am glad to be marching on the enemy. And proud - I never thought we would go so far as to do so." 

"Neither did I." Admitted Elladan, "Proud and glad I am to see the strength of Man once again take a stand against the Enemy, and to have my beloved baby brother live up to his potential and lead them." 

"Myself, as well." Agreed Elrohir, "Although I never doubted that our cousins would be so brave, and our baby brother so bold and wise, as to reach such a moment." 

"Hmm, no, you didn't, did you, twin-mine?" Noted Elladan thoughtfully, "Well, I never doubted Aragorn. I have, at times, doubted the collective organizational skills -and even the courage- of our human cousins as a whole. No offense intended, Magordan." 

"I've met enough idiots, human and not, in my life that I take no offense to that, m'Lord Elladan." Magodan replied laconically. 

Elladan laughed, "Well, that's me in my place. Good answer, old friend. Help us keep an eye on Commander baby brother, won't you?" 

"Of course. You need not even ask." 

Aragorn just sighed, shook his head, and turned back to mentally mapping the Enemy forces below them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Encouraging feedback always appreciated! Thank you for reading, hope that you enjoyed!


	7. Surprisingly Victorious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aragorn had never really thought about the possibility of living in a world after Sauron had been vanquished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is the seventh chapter in a story spanning the events from just after the Battle of Pelennor Fields to just before the Army of the West arrives back at Minas Tirith, for purposes of the DH AU. 
> 
> This chapter is very short. I will post a few missing scene tonight which is almost as long as the chapter itself, if not longer, and I may post at least one more. I apologize if that is a disappointment to anyone. Often, with the scenes or parts of his stories that Tolkien has written in detail, I just don't feel inspired to add very much. Tolkien has already covered it. That's part of why a large number of the stories I write based in the lovely world he has created are set in the 4th Age. 
> 
> Quotes: 
> 
> "But in the front towards Mordor where the first bitter assault would come there stood the sons of Elrond on the left with the Dúnedain about them." - J. R. R. Tolkien - Return of the King, The Black Gate Opens
> 
> “Hold your ground, hold your ground! Sons of Gondor, of Rohan, my brothers! I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day. An hour of woes and shattered shields, when the age of men comes crashing down! But it is not this day! This day we fight! By all that you hold dear on this good Earth, I bid you stand, Men of the West!” - J. R. R. Tolkien

The Ring was Destroyed. The Battle was won. Their enemies, defeated more by the loss of Sauron than by the might of the West, were surrendered or fled. The surrender had been a near thing. Entirely too many of Aragorn's men had not been minded to let their enemies lay down their blades, but they had heeded his will. Those too far away to hear the order had by-and-large restrained themselves, waiting for orders. Elrohir had a few harsh words to say about the actions of the Lord of the Lefnui's men, and on the other hand some praise for a Captain Amrothos from Imrahil's camp, for having forced the Lefuni to stay their hands. 

Aragorn made a mental note to mention that to Imrahil, before turning back to the task of caring for the wounded. That took him through the night and into the next morning, when his brothers and his companions insisted that he rest. 

The morning dawned clear, if still chill. Aragorn could not believe that this day had finally come. He was acclaimed as King by the men who had followed him, and he accepted that honor gravely, as was their due. 

It wasn't until afterward, the following night, when he began to fall apart. He didn't know how to be a King. He didn't know how he was going to do this. He'd rarely ever expected that they would actually win. Aragorn had spent all of his adult life spearheading a struggle against Sauron; he didn't know how to live in a life where that struggle was over. 

"Oh Eru, what do I do?" Aragorn said softly to the bowl of stew in his hands. 

Elladan went to sit beside him, and put a brotherly arm around his shoulders. "Why do you think that Ada sent us? He knew that you would need us just as much if you won as if you had lost.

"Maybe even more if you won." Elrohir commented laconically. 

Somehow, that made it all seem a little less overwhelming. So did the arrival of Legolas, Gimli, Gandalf, and Pippin, with ale and more food. 

Tomorrow would come, and Sauron would still be gone. And Aragorn would still have an army to lead home to Minas Tirith, Eru bless him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please review if you are so inclined!


	8. The Long Road Home, Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Army marches home from the Black Gate, and Aragorn contemplates administration and other less-appealing aspects of King-hood.

The might of the armies of the west was encamped several days easy ride from the city of Minas Tirith. Hundreds of bright fires gleamed against the night. Such a display was in stark contrast to their earlier march. On their way to the Black Gate, Aragorn had often ordered that no fires be lit, so as not to give the fell beasts nor their riders the Nazgul any easy targets. 

Now, each campfire hosted a tired, if cheerful, gathering of men. Most of the soldiers who had marched to Barad-Dur had expected to find only death at journey's end. That, due to Frodo and Samwise's heroism, their side had triumphed over their enemy, whose might had seemed to vastly over-match their own, was a cause for a joyous relief both great and unexpected. More, the army of Gondor and their allies were returning not to another battle, but to celebrate the return of the King to Gondor, as well as the true and final end of the threat posed by Sauron. So the morale of the returning warriors was generally very high indeed. 

Aragorn's relief at their Enemy's end was so profound that it was difficult to call it joy. The end of the ring meant the end of Aragorn's life as he had known it. A struggle he had been fighting since he was twenty, preparing for since he was two years old (though he had been mostly unaware), had just ended in a moment. They had won, thanks to Frodo's courage, Sam's steadfastness, Gollum's insanity, and a decent dollop of luck. Not to mention the thousands of lives lost between the Pelennor and Morannon, history's most expensive diversion. And the lives lost earlier than that...Aragorn's ancestors and distant elven cousins at the Battle of the Last Alliance, his father Arathorn, dead in an orc attack. His ancestors the Kings and men of Arnor and Arthedain, so many killed by the Witch King of Angmar, who had himself been slain in turn by Merry and Eowyn. Just like that, a being of supernatural dread, the nightmare creature of Aragorn's youth amongst the Dunedain of the North, dead. He supposed the old Seafox Adrahil of Dol Amroth might be laughing in the hall of the ancestors about now. It was, indeed, not how much pressure you could bring to bear, but where you chose to apply it.

Aragorn should be happy, and he was. But Aragorn was also very aware of the cost of his victory. The cost to the land he would rule; the cost to his allies; the cost to his friends. That was part of why he had dragooned Legolas into helping him with his accursed paperwork. Legolas, like the twins, had been fighting Sauron and his lieutenants in one form or another all of his life. Unlike the twins, Las was not old enough to have fought against the Witch-King of Angmar the first time he had attacked Gondor and Arnor....but Legolas had been fighting orcs and spiders and other creatures of darkness since he had been an elfling. How many allies and friends he had lost during that time, both in combat and to mortality, Aragorn could not guess. Legolas was an anomaly amongst his people for his friendship with humans, and the cost of that friendship had been dear to his golden-haired gwador. So Aragorn and his brothers kept Legolas busy, so the Prince did not have much time to get lost in his own sorrows, with the battles over. 

Gimli seemed to have seized upon this strategy as well, as he and Legolas were acting as a two-being ambassadorship, meeting and greeting and thanking different camps of human each night. The twins had been accompanying them, mostly Elrohir, but also Elladan, when his duties of being a healer and his self-appointed role of studying the Prince of Dol Amroth permitted. Aragorn shook his head; talking to Elladan about his various obsessions, the current one being how and in what ways elven heritage from two different bloodlines might have effected the Dol Amroth Princes, only seemed to encourage him. And Aragorn had little time for keeping track of anyone else's activities. 

When Aragorn was not attending to duties of the future King, he was acting as a healer. And he was grateful, that the time had come to look out for the living. Thank goodness Frodo and Sam had survived - in what state, Aragorn knew not beyond the reports of the Warden from the house of healing, but where there was life, there was hope. Alas for poor Boromir - his loss at Parth Galen would haunt Aragorn for all of his life. It would haunt Imrahil and Faramir as well, he was sure. There had been so many losses...his kinsman Halbarad, his friend Theoden King, Lord Duinhir of the Blackroot Vale and his twin sons Duilin and Derufin, old Lord Forlong of Lossarnach, the list went on and on. They would have to do something to commemorate their dead. That would be among the many responsibilities which would fall upon Aragorn's shoulders. 

For that and many other reasons, it was fair to say that the first rush of overwhelmed joy and unexpected relief of victory had mostly vanished for Aragorn in the rush of new responsibilities. In fact, the future King was currently wishing he could exchange places with any other fighting man in his returning host, no matter how humble. Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Chieftain of the Northern Dunedain of lost Arnor, and soon-to-be King of the reunited lands of Arnor and Gondor, in truth found himself somewhat dismayed at how very much administrative back and forth was involved in running a kingdom, as opposed to the scattered survivors of a kingdom in exile. Aragorn was currently wading through the massive reams of scrolls which seemed to be involved in running Gondor, ending a war, and planning a celebration for his own arrival at the city of Minas Tirith where his ancestors had ruled, where he would soon rule. Barring, of course, a sudden attack by those assassins that Aragorn personally wasn't sure existed, but that his surviving mentors amongst the Rangers, and several members of the Fellowship (including, oddly, Pippin) were now looking for in the shadows. Between the unrelenting administrative details, and the new and annoying over-protectiveness of his friends, Aragorn was quite frankly wishing he was any other soldier, including the incredibly idiotic Lebennin bowman who had shot at a giant eagle when it brought Gandalf and Aragorn word of Frodo's and Samwise' survival. 

Everyone from Imrahil to Pippin wondered how anyone, no matter how limited of comprehension, could mistake an eagle for a nazgul, as the bowman claimed. Gandalf used the near-tragic incident to further stall their return to Gondor to coincide with some alignment of the stars, a celestial event which Gandalf, Elladan, and the human scholars in their company were all very excited about. Aragorn himself was torn between impatience at the delay, relief at a continued abeyance of the work which would further overwhelm him upon their arrival in Gondor, anticipation mixed with fear and further feelings of being overwhelmed at his coronation, and an eagerness to see his beloved Arwen and his friends, new and old, in Minas Tirith again. A long-held respect for Gandalf and his insistence that certain deeds be done upon certain days if possible kept Aragorn from overruling the decision, although he did complain that, even had he been minded to take every hobbit in the shire on an excursion, he could have done so more quickly than his army was traveling on its return march. 

Imrahil, for many of the same reasons as Aragorn, also acceded to Gandalf's request, although his impatience was even more marked than Aragorn's. At one point, Aragorn overheard Imrahil rather bitterly asking why Gandalf had not just crowned Aragorn years ago before he left Gondor as Thorongil. Gandalf had taken the opportunity to explain, from his perspective, more of why it had been needful for Aragorn to leave Gondor when he had. 

"Aragorn had already bided longer than than either Elrond or I believed wise, or safe. I do not doubt, son of Adrahil, that you could have used Aragorn's aid, leadership, and counsel in earlier days." Gandalf explained solemnly, although with more patience than Aragorn might have expected, "But I think that you needed him most in the days which have just ended. If he had stayed, he likely would not have lived to lead Gondor in its hour of greatest need." 

"So you say, Mithrandir. And so father said, as well." Imrahil conceded. Aragorn had wanted to address the issue with the old friend whom he had long loved as a younger brother, before his departure from Gondor. However, he was not sure how to do so, and remained silent still. 

Given Gandalf's desire that they arrive at Minas Tirith on a given day, Aragorn, in consultation with his other advisors, including Imrahil, decided that they might as well take a more circuitous route back, and see the state of the countryside for themselves. 

It would delay the coronation slightly longer, but if not for the prospect of wedding Arwen, there might not even be a coronation. If not for Arwen, Aragorn thought that he might give into the temptation to quietly just leave his tent, and go back to the wilds, where there were no endless bags of scrolls, no annoying administrative minutiae of Kingship. Oh, his mentors among the Rangers of the North, including his senior surviving Captain, Magordan, were trying to help. But they, like their Chieftain, had never before been in charge of a vast, hugely populated, and economically complex country such as Gondor. Amongst the surviving Dunedain of Arnor, military decisions had been made by the Chieftain, if he was available, and by the senior Ranger Captain, if the Chieftain was elsewhere. Other decisions involving the comparatively small civilian population were made by a council of elders, and were basically rubber-stamped by the Chieftain or his deputy, except in rare situations where there was a military problem with the elders' suggestions. The northern rangers had more or less led a society geared toward survival and opposition of Mordor, and it was rare for the council of elders to dispute their suggestions. 

A decade of exposure to the politics of Gondor, as a Captain in the former Lord Steward Ecthelion's army, had shown Aragorn that Gondor's council was a different beast entirely than the northern Dunedain's council of elders. The army of Gondor existed to protect its civilians and assure their prosperity, and the army sometimes had to fight for the resources to do that job effectively. Ecthelion's wily patience and subtle manipulations of his council, interspersed with his very rare demands, had largely made the system work, for the country and its military. Aragorn wasn't sure how his one-time friend Denethor, much less patient and subtle than his sire (though arguably more persistent), had managed as well as he evidently had. Opponents and rivals though they had been by the end, Aragorn would never forget that it was due in large part to Denethor's stewardship that there still was a Kingdom of Gondor for Aragorn to come back and rule. 

Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth was undoubtedly a part of the answer to the question of how Denethor had managed. Imrahil, who had been a mere stripling of 24 when Aragorn, then called Thorongil, had left Gondor to return to the North, had matured into a canny and compelling leader of men. Oh, the signs had been there, even in the teenaged Swan Knight and sailor. Aragorn recalled well that even then, Imrahil had been clever, fast to notice details that escaped others. Aragorn had seen Imrahil mature into an eloquent young knight who could could inspire respect, even from more senior officers, by the mere force of presence. Imrahil had been made a Captain and later second in command to one Admiral Telemnar, whose strategic and tactical brilliance had been exceeded only by his ability to create diplomatic blunders, seemingly with as much ease as he drew breath. The combination of Imrahil and Telemnar had worked extremely well, at least until Imrahil had fallen in love with Telemnar's younger sister Lorias. Prince Adrahil had not been best pleased to learn his twenty year old son had run off to be married, with the blessing of only his talented but erratic young Admiral. It had not mattered to the old Prince that Telemnar, Lorias' brother and guardian had given his permission. Adrahil had also been furious with then Admiral Thorongil, who had supposed to have been SUPERVISING the loose cannon and the heir to Dol Amroth, yet had been blissfully unaware of the young Imrahil's sudden infatuation and subsequent marital plans.

Aragorn wondered whatever had happened to Telemnar - he should take the next opportunity to ask Imrahil. Unfortunately, when the question occurred to Aragorn, Imrahil had been riding out on a sweep patrol, and not due back for several hours. Otherwise, Imrahil probably could have been convinced to help Aragorn with his pile of scrolls. Fortunately, Aragorn's foster brothers were on the same patrol with Imrahil. As much as he loved his brothers, the King had been grateful for the respite. 

Aragorn had been grateful to meet his brothers on the paths of the dead, grateful for their companionship and strong arms and hearts at Barad -dur, and was grateful for their continuing with him to Minas Tirith. He had, however, forgotten how terrifically annoying and, well, older-brotherly, they could be, when not involved in a death march against a megalomaniacal, near-omnipotent, supernatural tyrant. Elladan and Elrohir had known Aragorn, whom they called by his childhood name of Estel, since the future King had been a tiny, grieving child first fostered to their father's care. Both had been kindness itself to the traumatized young child, tutors to the teenager, and older brothers par excellance to the young Ranger. But knowing Aragorn so well gave the twins exactly the knowledge they needed to drive their younger brother wild with annoyance when they decided that was the way they could best help him to bear his new burdens. 

At times, Aragorn's brothers' antics were a useful distraction. They kept his grief over the death of Boromir and many other friends and countrymen at bay, as well as kept him from being overwhelmed by having the full weight of being Isildur's heir finally falling upon him. More, Aragorn could tell that the twins were restraining themselves, holding off from the three or four topics which could almost always make their younger foster-brother lose his temper. Still, it became wearying to be referred to in private as "our baby brother, the King," on a constant basis. More, the twins were very interested in human and elven genealogy. Elladan in particular, but also Elrohir, were fascinated by Imrahil. They were spending as much or more time around Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth than Aragorn, and that left the King slightly worried, for the twins were elves in their upbringing more than they were humans. The twins were accustomed to biding amongst the Dunedain of the North, but the northern Rangers were well accustomed to the twins, who had been a fixture of their military for centuries. The twins had not spent as much time around other humans as, say, Legolas, and Elladan and Elrohir were still prone to ask questions which were polite enough in elven scholarly society, or amongst the warriors of the first-born, but which were beyond the pale for humans. Upon learning that Imrahil's nephew was the new Steward of Gondor, where Estel would rule, the twins became extremely eager to meet poor Faramir as well. 

The King was devoutly hoping that Imrahil still had an excellent sense of humor, as he was very worried that his twin brothers, with their interest in Imrahil and his family, including his nephew, would sorely test Imrahil's patience and good humor. 

Imrahil's nephew, fortunately, seemed as if he might have inherited Aragorn's old protegee's fine sense of humor. Aragorn's mouth quirked in a smile as he recalled that throughout many of the thorough messages from regent Hurin, there were perceptive and occasionally piercingly funny comments in written in the margin in a finer hand, which Imrahil had identified, with a poorly hidden smile, as his nephew Faramir's.

"He shouldn't be writing yet." Aragorn noted with concern. "I'd asked the Healers to keep him quiet for a ten -day, to let his shoulder heal."

Imrahil shook his head. "This is Faramir's writing with his right hand. He is ambidextrous, like his mother." Imrahil smiled sadly, "Boromir used to tease his younger brother for his lovely handwriting, as Faramir's letters with his left hand, his primary hand, are even more elegant." 

Legolas and Aragorn's brothers had also smiled at reading some of Faramir's comments, such as "Hurin, we want this poor fellow to stay and be King, not expire from boredom. Summarize these reports." Aragorn, though he appreciated the humor, was wishing that Faramir had been well enough to see his will enforced. Hurin's reports were very detailed, but quite long.

For Aragorn, all of the administration headaches were certainly the worst thing, so far, about becoming King. Excepting perhaps the unrelenting responsibility, but hiding from that would not help, and all of the scrolls and letters were still quite possibly worse. 

And then, of course, there was the new - or perhaps newly-enabled - protectiveness of Aragorn's older brothers and some of his oldest friends. It had gotten to the point that Aragorn couldn't even go from his tent to the campfire, or from his horse to his tent, without tripping over a foster-brother, a fellow ranger, or one of his companions from the Quest. 

When Aragorn complained, Legolas told him to accept the situation as part and parcel of his new position.

"Believe me, I know of what I speak." Said Legolas fervently, Crown Prince of Greenwood as he had been for over four hundred years. 

"Do as I say, not as I do, Thranduilon?" Aragorn objected wryly. 

"Well, gwador-nin, I couldn't very well bring my guards with me on the Quest, now could I?" Legolas pointed out goodnaturedly. 

"Ada said no you couldn't." Answered Elrohir, "Yes, I asked." 

"And Ada said that we couldn't go either, though we did some scouting for you." Elladan explained. 

"But those arguments aren't going to impress cousin Thrani your Ada at all, 'Las." Elrohir concluded. 

Aragorn placed a gentle hand on his elven sworn-brother's shoulders and scolded his foster-brothers. "You speak as if the two of you don't habitually wander hither and thither without guard or escort." 

"Technically," Began Elladan. 

"We're our own guards." Finished Elrohir.

"That's brilliant." Snorted Legolas, "Elrond's heir and his spare, eachother's own guards. My father wouldn't think much of that argument either, 'Roh." 

Aragorn agreed with that, but it didn't really help his argument, so instead he told the twins, "Ada Elrond can hardly expect me to go everywhere trailed by guards when you two don't." 

"Ah, but we are not the King, nor the heirs of a King." Elrohir disagreed. 

"And Ada did, as we've told you, baby-brother, have to put up with his own guards as Gil-galad Ereinion's heir." Elladan added. 

"For 3,000 some years." Expanded Elrohir. 

"Ada is not going to be moved on this point, muindor-laes." The twins said together. 

Aragorn signed and moved his gaze to the flickering flames of the camp fire, wondering wistfully what Arwen would think of running off to live in the wilds, and leaving Gondor to be someone else's problem. The competent Imrahil's, perhaps, or young Faramir's, with his hope for the future and his scholar's mind. That would not be fair to Imrahil, though, nor to the promising young Faramir, who had already lost so much. 

Regretfully, Aragorn decided against bringing the topic up with Arwen unless she raised it first. His thoughts returned to the present in time to hear Legolas say that he thought his father Thranduil might still be jealous of Elrond, over Elrond's decision to defy Gil-galad's will and stay Lord of Imladris, rather than asserting his place as new King of the Noldorin Elves after the War of the Last Alliance. 

Elladan smiled and shook his head, wisps of hair escaping from his dark braids. "Glorfindel doesn't think that it makes much difference. He still sees that Ada doesn't go off by himself, either." 

"And we were MUCH older than you, Estel, on the magnitude of thousands of years old, before we were allowed to travel long distances, just the two of us. And even then, we welcome other like-minded companionship." Elrohir lectured. 

"The more the merrier. There are, after all, always orcs which need killing." Elladan said with a cold smile. 

"Truer words rarely spoken, sons of Elrond." Agreed Gimli, lighting his own pipe and passing one to Aragorn. The future King recalled that Gimli and Legolas had both been on a sweep patrol with the twins, earlier that day, and that they'd come across the remains of orcish raids. It was not hard to remember to be glad, that such might someday be a thing of the past. Even if it meant that Aragorn did have to be King.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave feedback, if you are so inclined. Thanks for reading, either way!


	9. The Long March Home Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aragorn continues to struggle with the new duties of Kingship along the road back to Minas Tirith, even as he counts his blessings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is the ninth chapter in a story spanning the events from just after the Battle of Pelennor Fields to just before the Army of the West arrives back at Minas Tirith, for purposes of the DH AU.

Despite Aragorn's overwhelming joy over the end of the Ring War and the hobbits' defeat of Sauron, and despite his joy in being with his old friend Imrahil again, Aragorn was troubled by Imrahil's reserve. Oh, Adrahil's son had never been as outgoing as his father, or say, his nephew Boromir. But it was painful to Aragorn to have his once close, brotherly relationship with Imrahil reduced to mere pleasantries and duty. 

He had tried to speak to Imrahil of the matter, but had ended up fumbling it badly, merely asking Imrahil not to refer to him as Thorongil, because that identity has been associated with Denethor's rival, by the end. And Aragorn must be King, now, though he hoped to be Imrahil's friend again, as well.

Imrahil seemed to recognize that Aragorn was trying. Though he remained formal, he offered, "I will tell you that you face a stiff task in winning over the Lords of Gondor and its council, though public opinion on the whole, as well as blood and conquest right, favors your claim. There was not much opposition to your decisions in the wake of the battle, or on the way to the Gate - but that will change, now that their doom is no longer shadowing the horizon."

That intelligence was unwelcome, though not unexpected. "I had some concern over that." Aragorn confided, "I did not think the council had changed its stripes so much in a mere three decades." 

"I will help you, my King-to-be." Imrahil pledged. "And there are others who will give you aid as well, should you ask. Including my nephew Faramir. Though Gondor will no longer need a ruling Steward, I would advise you that it might be best to keep my surviving nephew on in some capacity. He's a capable and clever young man, with a kind heart, and a good Captain to his men." 

Aragorn, having already made up his mind to do just that, nodded. "I had already thought to do so, only knowing of him that he had fought the black breath so long, and had so staunchly covered his men's retreat. I would ask why you mention so in the same breath as the council, as my impression previously had been that Faramir had little to do with politics."

Imrahil looked uncertain for a moment, before embarking upon a graceful demurral. Before he could say very much, they had both been distracted by the arrival of another messenger bearing more accursed bags of work. 

Remembering his unanswered questions regarding Imrahil and his impressive nephew, Aragorn made a mental note to pursue the issue with Imrahil later, before diving back into the new scrolls Lord Hurin had prepared for him on protocol. After less than twenty minutes, Aragorn looked up from he felt was an unnecessarily long and dry description of past coronations (not, a part of his mind noted absently, in Faramir's attractive script). The King's attention had been seized by the sound of his friend Gimli beginning another story to amuse their hobbit companion Pippin, recently healed of wounds sustained fighting a troll at Barad-Dur. 

Legolas turned to his friend and scolded Aragorn for his distraction. "Pay attention mellon-nin." The elven Prince chastised gently "You must get those requisitions done." 

Aragorn, tired of reading, amused himself by whining at his old and dear friend in a joking manner, "But, Leg-o-las, I'm going to be the King... shouldn't I be able to order someone else to review these reports?"

Legolas chuckled. "I've actually had almost this exact same conversation with my father, and have heard him have similar ones with his advisors."

Aragorn grinned as he recalled Lord Elrond's fond frustration when reminiscing of Legolas' formidable father's dislike of routine administrative tasks. Then Aragorn's attention was seized by an enticing but impossible fancy. "The idiot from Lebennin who shot at the eagle with an arrow - perhaps I can order him to review these reports!"

Legolas sighed, though he was smiling. "I'm not sure that poor fellow's literate, Aragorn. Nor would he come within a mile of anywhere Gandalf's likely to be found. Besides, as my father's advisors are wont to remind him several times a year, you have to do your own paperwork, at least enough so that you know what you are and are not willing to delegate."

"Hmm...delegation..." Aragorn murmured, grey eyes going a bit hazy as he considered asking his brothers to help him with these endless dispatches. They had both even been trained to such tasks, being sons of Lord Elrond. Aragorn dismissed the thought wistfully. Elladan was competent with paperwork, but apt to slip additional requisitions and verbiage into the most boring part of a document, in hopes that it would not be noticed by anyone in authority until it was too late to stop Elladan's plans from coming to fruition. And Elrohir's involvement in administration was still enough to make his father's advisor Erestor throw his hands up in despair, and plead with the twins' adviser Melpomaen to hold Elrohir's hand during his performance of any administrative duties. 'Perhaps the Wizard? ' Aragorn pondered. 

Legolas sighed, and left his day-dreaming friend for a moment. In the elf's wake entered one of the few surviving officers of the Southern Rangers, Lieutenant Dervorin, trailed by the suspicious Magordan, an exceptionally tall and broad ranger who had once trained a youthful Aragorn. 

Aragorn hid a grin, Magordan's eagle eye appraisal of the young ranger successfully distracting him, for the moment, from thinking on the sad fate that had befallen most of the younger man's fellows.

"Dev, I see that you've brought more bags of scrolls that you look like you want to give to me, but I'm not sure how that's possible, seeing as I already received three yesterday." The King joked.

Flashing a grin of his own after a respectful bow, the Lieutenant explained. "I mentioned to the Keeper of the Keys that you wanted him to send along a scribe to go with the work next time, my liege, but he seemed confused. At the risk of being impertinent, I'm afraid I must confess to you that the good Keeper Hurin does not have much in the way of a sense of humor. He'd get along great with Captain Magordan, here, though."

Magordan, who had taken a distinct dislike to Hurin before they left for Barad-Dur (despite having once been rather fond of the keeper's father, back in the days of Thorongil) merely narrowed his eyes. If Aragorn's senior Dunedain captain had been in charge, no one whom he hadn't know for longer than Aragorn had been alive would be permitted into the King's presence without at least three armed guards for the King. Oh, and no one with a sense of humor quite as irrepressible as Dev's would be chosen for any important positions. Aragorn felt that Magordan was overreacting to Dervorin's little prank of the other day. 

Aragorn had asked the messenger to bring him "something different, anything other than these infernal letters and scrolls," if Dev must bring back more satchels. The young officer had obliged by bringing the King a satchel containing a live chicken, which, although later much appreciated at the campfire, had given Magordan a bit of a startle. Aragorn as well, though it had also gotten the future King to smile and even laugh.

Rifling quickly through the dispatches, Aragorn manfully stifled a groan, though he noted with relief that Faramir's fine hand was present on almost all of the documents, summarizing and offering suggestions. Listening with half an ear to the Ithilien Lieutenant continuing to bait Magoradan, Aragorn hid another smile. Aragorn was glad he had agreed to Imrahil's request to appoint this young fellow as a messenger, to keep Dev's mind off of his grief.

When first appointing Dev a messenger, Aragorn had wryly commented to Imrahil "it is strange that Lieutenant Dervorin rides well, as most rangers don't have many opportunities to practice such skills."

Dervorin had merely looked pleased with the compliment. Imrahil had looked ready to make up an interesting story, but Aragorn had held a hand up to forestall him, before dryly pointing out. "Yes, Imrahil, I am aware that some civilian outposts must have been maintained in Ithilien, despite Denethor's command that they be abandoned, for how else did Faramir's rangers "come across" a sufficient number of horses for most of them to arrive in time to support Osgiliath and Minas Tirith before the battle of Pelennor Fields? Let alone provide "wild chickens" for us to enjoy our march to Barad-dur." 

Dervorin seemed nonchalant, Imrahil slightly embarrassed at this on-going evidence of his and his nephews' manipulation of Denethor's military. Aragorn nodded at having his suspicion confirmed, before reassuring the Prince of Dol Amroth and the Captain - now Steward- Faramir's young officer, "I do not hold such failures in honesty against you or Lord Faramir. I am aware you were all just trying to do your best to hold out against Sauron, and I am well aware that Lord Denethor could be unreasonable at times."

Imrahil nodded in relief, as Dev gave the King an appreciative look. Something about the expression on the young Lieutenant's face made the hair on the back of Aragorn's neck prickle, so he qualified his earlier statement. 

"That does not mean I shall accept the two of you, or your clever nephew, pulling the wool over my eyes in the same way, Imrahil." The King instructed sternly. "I have it on good authority that I am normally a reasonable man, and I shall give you every opportunity to present your case. But if I decide it against your appeal, I expect obedience."

Imrahil, blushing in memory of the last time he had defied then Captain Thorongil's instructions, nodded, as Dervorin, wide-eyed, agreed that of course it would never cross his mind to try to deceive the King. Imrahil sighed, while Aragorn suppressed another smile. He could almost hear Imrahil making a mental note to reprimand the lieutenant later. Aragorn, fortunately, chose to be amused rather than offended by Dev's facetious manner.

The sound of a throat clearing brought Aragorn's attention back to the here and now. 

"By your leave, Sire?" Dervorin asked when the King looked up from his dismayed review of the satchels.

"Oh, yes, Lieutenant, you may be on your way. I thank you for your diligent discharge of your duties. My scribe," Aragorn gave a mental sigh at the continuing absence of the retired Dunedain ranger Elegos, who normally served as his scribe. Ethiron was more than capable of scribing as well as spying, but he was in Minas Tirith. Instead, Aragorn was being loyally and earnestly assisted by one of Elegos' and Ethiron's unwillingly drafted apprentices, Orohael, who was acting as if he were one of Aragorn's scribes, but was not a particularly good writer, "has been particularly effusive in his praise of your assistance. It is very much appreciated."

Lieutenant Dervorin bowed respectfully and exited, Magordan trailing him like a suspicious wolfhound.

The next welcome interruption came in the form of Legolas's return, pulling Gimli into Aragorn's tent. The bemused new King was informed that Gimli, as well, had volunteered his assistance with Aragorn's new administrative burdens. Aragorn's eyebrow rose in astonishment before he recalled that Gimli was a cousin, and personal friend, of his own dwarven King, Dain II Ironfoot. Dain having a similar outlook to Legolas' father when it came to certain aspects of Kingship, it was entirely likely that Gimli had more than a passing acquaintance with the drudgery of running a Kingdom.

Legolas grinned brightly and explained "We've talked about it, Gimli and I."

Aragorn, hearing this opening, felt intrigued but a little frightened. Similar initial statements by Legolas had introduced ideas running the gamut from excellent (i.e., "and we think integrating the participating elves with the ranger groups will extend our scouting group's intelligence gathering capabilities"), to terrifyingly horrible (i..e, the never-to-be-forgotten "and we're going to find out which is more dangerous, a drunken axe catching contest or a drunken arrow catching contest").

Granted, the elf and dwarf had been drinking for most of the day at the time they'd come up with the last idea, so this idea was probably not that bad. Summoning his courage, Aragorn nodded for his friend to continue.

Gimli grinned and hid a chuckle, likely having guessed what his ranger friend was remembering. Legolas spoke up and assuaged the King's fears. "Gimli and I are going to remain in Minas Tirith with you for some time. We shall help redesign and replant the gardens, and rebuild the Rammas eEhor and the gates of the city.

Aragorn, happier than he could remember being since he realized the ring was destroyed, spoke simply. "I cannot thank you enough, my friends. No oath binds you to me going forward, but my labors in the White City will be much sweeter for the joy of your company, and the incomparable gift of your help."

Legolas smiled at him with gleaming eyes, while Gimli harrumphed, not being comfortable with such emotional moments. To Aragorn's surprise, the dwarf added, "I've said it before and I'll say it again - faithless is he who says farewell when the road darkens. The horizon may be brighter, but I know from being Dain's cousin, friend and retainer that being King is no easy business. We'll not leave you 'ere you're settled, my Ranger friend. "

Aragorn, touched, offered both of his friends a seat, and a satchel of parchment. The three began making excellent progress, Gimli and Legolas calling ARagorn's attention only to those details which needed his opinion far more efficiently than any of his other helpers to date save Imrahil. Both dwarf and elf occasionally found themselves chuckling at Faramir's increasingly exasperated comments in the margins of Hurin's reports, with Legolas reading aloud several particularly funny passages. 

"Hurin, the King's betrothed is an elf, not an oliphaunt. I doubt sincerely that the material Lord Aragorn needs to review for his wedding includes twenty pages on how to safely help his bride down from an oliphaunt basket, and the proper protocol for bringing an oliphaunt to the seventh level of the city." Legolas read aloud, chuckling. "I don't know, Aragorn, Cousin Arwen would probably love to arrive for her wedding on top of a mumak."

Aragorn shook his head, also smiling. "You can pull those twenty pages and toss them in the fire basket, 'Las. Arwen and I have discussed it, and she wants to keep the wedding ceremony as simple as possible. I suspect no oliphaunts will be invited."

Continuing to chuckle, the golden-haired elf asked, "When is she arriving, anyway?"

"Any day now, according to the twins." Aragorn said with a happy sigh. "She may even beat the army to Minas Tirth, not that it would be much of a feat, considering the pace Gandalf has set." The future King paused working to muse on his much loved Arwen, who the twins had told him almost followed them to battle along with the grey company. Only Melpomaen's quiet comment that Aragorn would be distracted for worrying over her had persuaded Arwen against that course of action. Instead, Aragorn's love had gone to Lothlorien to await word, with Melpomaen accompanying her. Aragorn thought the choice might have something to do with Arwen thinking she was more likely to see some military action in Lothlorien, and that her adoptive-uncle Haldir, under the supervisoin of Lady Galadriel, would be more likely to permit one of his favorite pupils to participate in said action. Aragorn supposed he would hear all about it soon enough. Arwen was a very competent warrior, but if Daernaneth Galadriel had allowed her to join the battle in Lothlorien, their Adar Elrond would be none to happy about it. Elrond's care over his only surviving daughter took overprotective to a new level. Though Arwen loved her father, she frequently found herself staying centuries in Lothlorien, where the all-seeing eyes upon her were somewhat more indulgent, and where she could also assist in relaying messages between her father and grandmother. 

"Gwador-nin, if Gimli and I finish our piles before you are half-way through with ours, you shall be paying for our ale for the next year." Legolas reprimanded his wool-gathering friend.

"Won't I be doing that anyway?" The former Ranger observed, well content that it should be so. His friends' help was more than worth the cost of their ale.

"Well, yes." The elven Prince agreed. "But if you make me do your share of YOUR work as well as my own, I will buy all of the hobbits Dorwinion. Weekly."

Aragorn snorted and returned his attention to the plans for billeting the army outside the city. Those were at least relevant. As he reviewed the section on what grazing could be made available for the horses of the Rohirrim, the King's mind drifted again. As tedious and painful as all of this administration was, Aragorn felt he was in a better situation than his poor friend Eomer King, who was just now receiving correspondence from Rohan's acting regent Marshal Erckenbrand which was still addressed to Eomer's recently departed uncle Theoden. More, the dispatches were written in a shorthand which had apparently been understood only between Theoden and Erckenbrand (though Eomer had since begun forwarding much of it to Eowyn, who had apparently helped Theoden with his correspondence).

Aragorn, Magordan, and Imrahil had spent the better part of a night helping Eomer and his senior Rider Eorlan interpret those communiques. More, Eomer had never expected to be King of Rohan, and had not had the exhaustive, rigorous intellectual training Aragorn had been put through since he was a small child by Lord Elrond and his advisors. At the time, the multiple lessons on history, governance, administration, and culture had seemed rather worthless to the child Estel, save where they involved battles or rangers. But Aragorn was very glad now that Elrond and Erestor had demanded he pay attention, and rewarded his successes with added weapons training, chess lessons, and the occasional camping trip, which had meant much more to the young child he had been than any sweet or toy. 

Eomer's plans for the immediate future seemed to rely heavily on Eowyn's assistance. Aragorn knew the siblings were close, and hoped the fierce shieldmaiden would prove as able an administrator as a warrior. He also hoped that she would someday find a man to love who was appreciative of her...unique gifts. If he had never met Arwen, he did not think he could do better amongst the women of the world then Eowyn, though he still did not know if he could have loved her. She was more than young enough to be his granddaughter, after all. But the point was moot, because Aragorn had loved Arwen absolutely since first they met, when he had been Eowyn's age. But Eowyn was a fine woman, and deserved to be loved, and to produce fine sons- and possibly daughters as well - for Rohan.

Thinking of Eowyn brought the King back to thoughts of Imrahil, whose keen eye had noted that the White Lady yet lived, preserving her life for Aragorn to save. 

The following morning, Aragorn tried again to reforge the close friendship he had once shared with the Prince of Dol Amroth. Around mid-day, when their columns fell together on the march, he asked, "I've barely seen your Amrothos, and only that at a distance. Will your other children, and your Lady, join you in the White City?" 

Imrahil's noble mien, which had softened with affection at the mention of Amrothos and his children, darkened again. "I lost Lorias to a fever fourteen years ago, this spring." He reported, the pain and the agony still fresh in his voice. 

"I am so sorry, my dear friend." 

Imrahil, perhaps remembering that Aragorn had been there the morning after the night he married Lorias, smiled, an expression caught between grief and wistfulness. "We had near forty good years together, Lorias and I, and she gave me four beautiful children. I am glad of every one of those days, and every day I give thanks that I still have her sons and daughter. Glad Telemnar gave me her hand, glad I defied my father to marry her as young as I did, and glad for your good counsel after my marriage." 

Aragorn's expression grew distant, lost in memories. "I am glad you had that time together as well." He told Imrahil gently, "And I look forward to seeing the men Elphir and Erchirion have grown into, and meeting your daughter and youngest son. Aragorn's face saddened. "If Arwen and I had been permitted to wed when first we fell in love, we might have had a first child who would now be your age, Imrahil."

The Prince of Dol Amroth gave him a quizzical look. "I suppose I never thought of you as that old, Thoron- Aragorn, although it often occurred to me, watching you with Brom, Elphir, and Chiri, that you would make a very good father." 

"Brom?" Aragorn asked, amusement warring with pain on his face at that odd shortening of bold, proud Boromir's name.

Imrahil's teeth flashed in a pirate's grin. "More properly pronounced "Brrooommm," in a little brother's offended whine. It was Faramir's name for his brother, before he could pronounce Boromir. Lorias thought it sweet, and Brom he was to our brood."

"Ah, brothers." Aragorn commented briefly.

"Speaking of," Imrahil asked, "did your lady's older brothers ever cease being such disagreeable orcs about your impending marriage?"

The twins were riding far enough away that humans could not have overheard, but the twins were more than half elven. They approached, casting a quelling look at Aragorn, who was hiding a smile, and fixing Imrahil with an offended glare. "We were not in the least bit orc-like." Elrohir objected. "They were...he was..."

Elladan put in, "We wronged Estel by being difficult, but we were trying to protect them both - her virtue from your mannish virility, muindor-laes, and your youth from her age and sophistication."

"Arwen is NOT old." Aragorn objected.

She's all of our sister!" Elrohir objected indignantly. "It takes some getting used to!"

Aragorn, sighing, "She is not MY sister."

"Ah.," Interrupted Imrahil cautiously, "Lord Aragorn's blood is very only very distantly of your line, my Lords. My own parents and grandparents were much more closely related, and still Gandalf and their elders did not hesitate to arrange their marriages."

"Hmm." Murmured Elladan, intrigued. Aragorn winced. But it was still better than Elrohir's next comment was going to be, Aragorn could tell that just by the set of his shoulders. 

"That's disgusting." The older twin said, with an offended grimace. 

Even calm Imrahil looked a bit offended by that. Aragorn sighed and blissfully imagined Glorfindel shoving Elrohir out of his saddle, as he tried to come with a way of smoothing over Elrohir's special brand of diplomacy, which usually went over well with King Thranduil, albeit not without a shouting match or two, but not so well with anyone else.

Before Aragorn could think of what to say, Elladan spoke up, again smoothing the water, "Dear Prince Imrahil, forgive my twin brother. He can be boorish at times. It was not the closeness of Estel's blood relationship to Arwen, it was that we viewed them both as our siblings. Estel - Aragorn- was raised by our father Lord Elrond. We consider him our brother still. Our sister was not there for his childhood, as she was living with our daernaneth the Lady Galadriel of Lothlorien. When first Arwen met Estel, both were adults, but to us, they were and are both our siblings, Arwen of blood, Estel merely by bonds of affection. We reacted...badly, at first, to our shame. Estel and Arwen shall make us pay for it for the rest of their lives, and they are a...formidable.. couple." 

"Good." Imrahil commented blandly. "They'll need to be, as I do not envy you your fractious council, my new King." 

Aragorn sighed.


	10. The Long March Home Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imrahil makes the acquaintance of one of Boromir's last students.

Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth was having a better time on patrol with Lords Elladan and Elrohir than Aragorn was having marching through his mail. Fortunately, the twins had forgiven Imrahil for his unintentional gaffe about their initial reception of their younger foster brother as their future brother-by-law. Indeed, every time Imrahil turned around, he seemed to be tripping over one twin or the other, if the Greenwood elf Legolas wasn't offering to share a drink with him. Imrahil enjoyed the company of the King's brothers and elven companion, but found it a bit odd. Also, it made it harder to get his work done. Fortunately, Imrahil's youngest son Amrothos had seized upon his father's administrative tasks as a distraction from his hurts, and was proving himself invaluable, particularly when assisted by Lieutenant Dervorin, who still found time amongst his other duties to visit the Dol Amroth camp and marching lines frequently.

Imrahil called a halt in a village, so that the horses could be cooled down while he spoke briefly with the mayor about how the village was faring. The Enemy's armies had been defeated, but there were still marauding hordes of orcs and other foul creatures. The King and his generals had established patrols to beat them back, but the patrols couldn't be everywhere. 

Stepping away from the mayor with a polite nod, Imrahil was bemused to see the peredhel twins purchasing something from a seller of toys. It appeared to be a stuffed toy bear. 

Elladan grinned at him. "It is for Estel, it will make sense when we give it to him." 

Prince Imrahil, the father of three sons who seemed to derive endless enjoyment from similar unfathomable jests, nodded sagely. 

It was odd for Imrahil to see his former mentor Thorongil - Aragorn - in the role of younger brother, for all the elven warriors were careful of the King-to-be's dignity in public. But, despite Imrahil's reticence, Aragorn still treated Imrahil as an unofficial member of his own family, as he had been accustomed to doing when dining with his friend Finduilas and her younger brother the newly minted Swan Knight. Consequently, Imrahil had seen the twins offering Aragorn lese majeste, and even "suggesting" that the King eat, or sleep, or not go about alone, with a tone that made it clear that such suggestions were, in truth, thinly veiled older-brotherly orders. 

Imrahil felt a life-time away from that care-free, noble young man, content and honored to sit at the right side of the dashing Captain Thorongil. The new made captain who had been so pleased that his hero considered him a worthy young soldier... those days were gone and gone, the ship of time had sailed passed many sunsets since then. But it might well be good to reclaim that friendship - and Thorongil- Aragorn -had kindly made it clear, several times, that such was on offer. 

Imrahil was glad that Lord Elrond's sons had prolonged their patrol's time in the village, for one of Lieutenant Dervorin's men had needed the time, though neither Dervorin nor the ranger under his command had thought it important to inform the Prince of Dol Amroth as to why. Shaking his head, Imrahil briefly reflected that he was quite pleased that Dervorin and his spies would soon be Aragorn's problem and not his own. Imrahil was planning to wait until after he spoke with Faramir, before speaking of the matter with the future King. Imrahil wanted to know what part his nephew had in all of this. Usually, where Faramir was concerned, Dervorin was the follower instead of the leader, but Imrahil could not see his normally honest nephew acting the spy. Still, Faramir could be the soul of discretion, the complete opposite of his poor lost brother Boromir, who had shown every emotion on his face.

Imrahil dismounted as the patrol arrived at the King's camp, reporting in person on the status of countryside. As he spoke to Aragorn, he noticed that a halfling, probably one of the ringbearer's companions, had joined the King's circle. The little fellow was dressed as a squire of Gondor, in miniature armor that seemed somewhat familiar to Imrahil. The halfling leaned over to ask a question of the Prince Legolas, who nodded towards Imrahil and escorted the halfling protectively towards the King and Prince of Dol Amroth. Meanwhile, the circle was enlarged again as Eomer King and several of his riders joined Aragorn's fire to discuss where they should take their patrol, which would be departing soon. 

Waving Legolas and Pippin over to his side, Aragorn said, "Imrahil, I don't think you've made the acquaintance of the youngest and most irrepressible member of the Fellowship. Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth, it is my honor to introduce Peregrine Took, son of the Thain Paladin II, made a Squire of Gondor by Denethor's appointment." 

Imrahil gravely shook the hand of the young golden-haired halfling.

"You may call me Pippin, Highness. I am pleased to make your acquaintance, as you resemble your nephews, Sir." The hobbit commended, "not so much in appearance, but in nobility of spirit." 

"I thank you, Squire Pippin." Imrahil acknowledged gravely. "In a better world, they would both be with us still." 

"Boromir saved my life, your highness." Pippin explained solemnly. "I don't know as anyone else told you - I don't think anyone but Merry and I were with him, when he fell - but he took on a herd of orcs and a flight of arrows for us. We would have died, if he had not been the bravest and best of men." 

Imrahil swallowed hard. He and the King had danced around the subject of Boromir, but it had not been the easiest of topics to discuss, leaving on a death march, and since their victory, events had moved very fast indeed. 

"Indeed." Aragorn agreed, deep voice soothing, though Imrahil realized that his old friend was clearly still grieving the loss of the baby whom Aragorn, too, had once dandled on his knee. "We are all bereft at your older nephew's loss, Imrahil." Aragorn continued, his voice a deep baritone rumble, "Boromir was the son of my friends, as well as a valued member of our fellowship." Legolas, beside the King and the hobbit, nodded in agreement, and the dwarf Gimli had appeared as well, through the mist of tears in Imrahil's eyes, to further tell him of their sorrow at his nephew's loss. 

"I thank you all." Imrahil managed, "But I believe I owe young Squire Pippin additional thanks, as I recognize your name as that of he who brought Gandalf's aid and Beregrond's to save my younger nephew from immolation. I can never thank you enough for that deed, Squire Pippin."

Pippin looked down, uncomfortable with the praise. "I only brought the matter to the attention of the right people, your Highness."

Imrahil, recalling Beregrond's, and his other informants', description of the hobbit's swift and clever intervention, disagreed. "Nay, dear Squire. Your actions were quite brave, and effective. It is not the amount of pressure that a warrior can bring to bear, but how and when he uses it. If the war were not over," Imrahil continued with a sad smile, "I suspect Faramir would try to steal you for his Ithilien rangers." 

"Ha!" Gimli called, whacking Pippin gently on the shoulder blades, followed by Elladan's immediate scold to let the walking wounded heal, "You see that, Master Hobbit? You could have ended up a Ranger, like Strider. Now if that's not the type of fate to frighten the faint of heart."

"Thank you." Aragorn said sarcastically, as Imrahil offered a faint smile, consumed for a moment by the weight of what was not said. 

Six hundred plus Ithilien Rangers, at the height of Faramir's command. Fifty sent on to reinforce other garrisons before the end, and some of them would have survived. A skeleton garrison left in Henneth Annun, and some of them yet lived. Five hundred who rode for Osgiliath under Faramir's command. Three hundred died in the ruins of Osgiliath. One hundred and ninety-nine more died on the Pelennor; of them, only Faramir had survived. Only thirty rangers had gone to the Black Gate, and of them, seventeen returned. Faramir, Imrahil knew, would be devastated. Even Dervorin, who as a rule did not show remorse or grief, had woken most nights, haunted by the missing. 

Pippin, although recognizing Imrahil's compliment as such, nonetheless continued "I would that .... that Boromir need not have died for me." 

Imrahil shook his head, searching for words. This young, brave halfling warrior, brought far from his home on a journey of such desperation, clearly struggled with terrible grief over his older nephew's fate. Imrahil had known Boromir well, and knew he would not want his friend to suffer so, especially not for a sacrifice Boromir had freely made. Finally Imrahil said, "You have already given Boromir the one thing he would have valued above all else - saving his beloved younger brother Faramir."

"Indeed, Peregrine Took," Gandalf, rejoining their company from who knew where, interrupted in a heartening tone, "Your innocent yet blasted foolish curiosity in looking into the palantir, though it got you into hot water with me at the time, ended up being a very good thing. Your presence in Minas Tirith saved Faramir's life, and finding a hobbit eyeballing him over the palantiri from Isengard seemed to confuse the dark lord, if nothing else." Imrahil's thoughts moved to the palantir, and to how Faramir had told him, in the House of Healing, that Faramir wondered whether Denethor might have started using it as early as before Boromir was born, whether it might have been Denethor who had given away Finduilas' pregnancy to the enemy. 

[Elrohir POV] 

"Ha!" Legolas commented merrily. "For all that you have whinged and complained, Gandalf, about Pippin's various hi-jinks, it might have been Pippin's unauthorized use of the seeing stone which diverted Sauron's attention to Isengard, letting Frodo get closer to Mordor!" 

The wizard raised an irritated eyebrow at Legolas, whose version of a sense of humor ran along the lines of repeating what someone else had just said, in a very annoying way. For years, Elrohir mused absently, he had believed his pupil and much loved younger cousin the Prince of Greenwood to be a bit slow. When he had first realized that Legolas had developed this annoying habit on purpose to irritate his elders without actually getting into trouble, Elrohir had tossed the laughing blond ellon into a fountain. But Elrohir had not told any other of Legolas' elders - cousinly solidarity being a strong force amongst the youngest generation of elven royalty. Legolas, relying upon that same solidarity, now ducked behind Elrohir, who found himself the new focus of the Wizard's glower. 

One of the Riders accompanying Eomer, perhaps jealous of the praise being given to the young Squire of Gondor, pointed out that Pippin's interfering to save Faramir hadn't made that much difference in the long run. 

"The Steward of Gondor is just one man!" 

Aragorn met Elrohir's eyes. Both knew that it had made that much of a difference. Being able to win one, to save somebody, in that moment of utter exhaustion and loss, when Aragorn had been wondering whether the had the strength to go on, had meant something to the man who hadn't been sure he wanted to be King. Having the man he saved remind him of all the best of Gondor - that had made it all the better. That victory had given Aragorn the strength he needed to save the others, to stand tall and command the forces which remained to men and their allies in their final, desperate gambit at the Black Gate.

Eomer spoke sharply to his retainer, "Would you say the same thing about my sister? I am very thankful you were there to see she was alive, Prince Imrahil." He added, turning to that worthy. 

Imrahil graciously and affectionately replied that he had been glad to do so. Elrohir had overheard Aragorn discussing Imrahil (and his family) with the Dunedain ranger Magordan, who had boded in Gondor with Aragorn when Aragorn had been serving in Gondor's military under the name of Thorongil. Both Aragorn and Magordan had a great deal of affection for Imrahil, and knew him well. Aragorn had said that Imrahil had rapidly become quite fond of Eomer, viewing him as brave, honorable, and diligent, if not very ready for Kingship off of the battlefield. Aragorn thought it was possible that Imrahil might see himself in Eomer, though Imrahil at a like age had been better trained. It had been an unfortunate necessity, as Imrahil had been a child of his father's middle age. Sixty years of active military service, had the late Adrahil seen, and some of it so secret that Adrahil had never shared all the details. Those years, Aragorn explained, had left Adrahil near crippled by arthritis on damp mornings. But Adrahil had lived nearly another two decades longer than they had expected, thanks to the intervention of Aragorn, and Elladan, who had rejoined Aragorn at the end of his long sojourn as Thorongil, masquerading as a human healer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear from you if you are enjoying the story.


	11. The Long March Home Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, Elladan and Elrohir are trying to help Aragorn make his mortal friends more comfortable. And other times, they're just trying to get his goat.

[Aragorn POV] 

A few hours later Aragorn found himself around the campfire, smoking a pipe after dinner with the members of the fellowship, his foster-brothers, some of his Dunedain, and Prince Imrahil. Imrahil seemed better, to Aragorn. Lighter, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulder, or perhaps from his heart. Oh, he was still reeling from the loss of his older nephew, and likely would be for a long time, but Pippin's innocent and heart-felt words had lanced that wound, and started it on the way to healing. Thinking of how grateful he was to his youngest halfling friend, Aragorn reached over and snatched a pear from his foster-brother Elladan, and then tossed it to Pippin. 

"Brat!" Protested Elladan, who then nudged his twin. 

Both of Aragorn's older twin brothers then smiled at their younger brother in a way that made the skin at the back of Aragorn's neck prickle with dread. Without speaking, Elrohir got up, went to their tent, and returned with a canvas bag which he presented to his youngest brother with a flourish. "We brought you a gift Estel." Elrohir said innocently. 

Suspicious but determined to act like a mature Chieftain of the Dunedain and future King of Reunited Gondor and Arnor, despite brotherly provocation, Aragorn thanked his oldest brother, and looked in the bag. He hoped the twins had finally outgrown the phase where they gifted their friends and family with stinging or biting animals then watched in glee. Maybe it was only something slimy, Aragorn thought encouragingly to himself.

Aragorn pulled out a stuffed toy bear, then burst into laughter. When he had restrained his mirth - which took the better part of a minute - he remarked, "Speaking of innocent mischief which resulted in unfortunate consequences for its perpetrators, but nonetheless ended up for the best in the end...."

Legolas smiled, as if glad to see his serious friend so light-hearted after his dismay with the unrelenting duties of kingship. Gimli as well welcomed the change of mood, and called loudly for Aragorn to tell the story. As there was no one around the fire who was not a personal friend, Aragorn acquiesced. 

"When I was a child in the home of the Lord Elrond," Aragorn began. 

"When you were our Adar's youngest son, and truly a child still," Elladan corrected pointedly. 

"Our youngest brother and not yet known as the leader of your people," Elrohir expanded. 

"Yes, then." Aragorn agreed, "'Chase me, Find me,' was my favorite game." 

"And Ada unfairly blamed us for introducing you to it." Elrohir recalled fondly.

"Chase me, Find me?" Inquired Pippin. 

"You hobbits and we Men call the game "Hide and Go Seek," Master Pippin." Magordan explained in his deep baritone, "Our Lord grew up amongst elves, and sometimes that shows." 

"In any event," said Elladan, throwing an arm over Aragorn's shoulder, "Elrohir and I, and Melpomaen, had just returned from a long patrol. Before we left, we'd promised someone a "no boundaries" game of "Chase me, Find me.'" 

"They normally restrained my creativity with entirely too many rules." Aragorn complained, hiding a smile at his own youthful exuberance. 

"We'd promised Ada not to give this little blackmailer the option of "no boundaries" again," Elrohir said, "But he gave us the puppy eyes - he was appallingly good at that. Show them, Estel." 

"I am almost ninety years old, Elrohir. Even if I still COULD use calf-eyes to get what I wanted, I wouldn't." Said Aragorn, nearly laughing. 

The twins exchanged a look of utmost skepticism, and Magordan chuckled. Aragorn looked away from Legolas' dancing eyes and Gimli's amused mien, and decided that the better part of valor was just to remain quiet. And besides, Aragorn felt that it was worth whatever damage to his dignity to see his friends smile, and to see Imrahil amused and drawn into their company again. Perhaps, in time, the Prince of Dol Amroth would once again grow comfortable enough to treat Aragorn as an older brother, as once he had viewed Thorongil. If that was what the twins had been trying to accomplish with their gift of the stuffed bear, then Aragorn was grateful. Aragorn thought it more likely that they had been trying to get his goat, but it wasn't past them to have the nobler motive of bringing some cheer to the hearts of their friends as well. 

Soon enough one of the twins took up the thread of the story again. "In any case, Aragorn took advantage of our fond indulgence for him, and hid in a rarely-used storage closet in one of the still-rooms attached to the main healing hall." 

"Once in the closet, whilst climbing behind jars of stored herbs and solutions, he spilled several. Including a sedative, a corrosive agent, and another with hallucinogenic properties." 

"It took us three hours to find him. It often did, but that he did not come out and claim his prize when we cried out forfeit after an hour worried us, so we recruited aid." 

"Fortunately, he was already near the antidotes to most of what he'd inhaled, but...." 

The twins shook their heads, "It was still an extremely worrisome afternoon before we were certain that he was well on the way to recovery. Much of that time was because he had a bad reaction to the essence of poppy Adar gave him. We had to use another painkiller, which left him...."

"Well on his way to recovery, truly, but in combination with everything else, rather unsure of where he was, and when." 

"And of what was real." Aragorn added dryly. 

Elrohir's lips quirked into a cat-like smile. "You begged us to take your toy stuffed bear away, as you emphatically believed that it had been plotting your death."

Aragorn himself had to grin at the laughs that spread around the campfire. He tossed the offending toy at Elrohir's head as he complained, "I spent two days hallucinating. I had a very vivid dream in which that cute soft bear came up to me for a hug, and then plunged a dagger in between my ribs. If you'd had that dream, you wouldn't have shared a room, much less a bed, with a stuffed bear ever again."

Legolas, who had heard this story before, was looking at Aragorn with some sympathy. Elladan had no such pity for his offending brother, and continued, "You also pleaded that we shoo away Erestor's little cat Gailchend, and prevent its future visits, as she would not stop lecturing you about the history of agricultural cultivation techniques in Lost Arnor, vs. Gondor, vs. Westernnese. You were must emphatic about that, too." 

"And poor Gailchend was just trying to make you feel better." Teased Elrohir. 

Elladan grinned at his twin, then added, "But what really made Estel feel better, apparently, was taking off all of his clothes and playing in the fountain during dinner time."

Another round of chuckles greeted that revelation. Aragorn, his cheeks beginning to flush from more than the heat of the fire, appreciated that Legolas at least was on his side. His elven friend and sworn-brother had a unique insight on the twins' version of brotherly love, as the twins had "practiced" on their younger cousin Legolas before being so lucky as to acquire such a well-loved child foster-brother of their very own.

Still, enough was enough. They'd brought out the fountain part of the story! 

"I was hallucinating. I was really hot, I woke up alone..." Aragorn griped, hoping to elicit some brotherly compassion. 

He partially succeeded. "You weren't alone, muindor-laes." Elrohir said, firm and reassuring, "You weren't alone until you were well again. I was watching you then." 

Elladan laughed, and this time not at Aragorn. "Functionally, Estel WAS alone, gwanur-nin. You were SUPPOSED to be watching him, but you fell asleep. For an elf, you're a heavy cat-napper." 

Having flashbacks of Galichend tucking her tail around herself as she began an explanation of the best conditions for the planting of squash, Aragorn sighed, "Can we stop talking about cats?"

"Stuffed toy bears are one thing," Elrohir reproved, "but your continued grudge against cats is quite another. Though I was glad when Erestor forced you to learn about agricultural cultivation during your recovery, as part of your punishment." 

Aragorn sighed, and shook his head. He did not, actually, dislike cats, but somehow that assumption had been made, and had proved difficult to disabuse. He did prefer dogs, at least most of the time. He'd been very fond of Erestor's little black cats. Some of his good memories from that week of feeling unwell also involved Gailchend, with her curled up against him, telling him tales of brave rangers and funny hobbits. The talking part of that had certainly been another hallucination, but the company had been very welcome. When she wasn't lecturing to him about plows. 

Aragorn's attention returned to his brothers, who were apparently not done embarrassing him. 

"And you were just ADORABLE playing naked in the fountain." Elladan continued, his gray eyes dancing wickedly, "All of the ellith certainly thought so. A pity Arwen wasn't there." 

"I was still hallucinating!" Aragorn protested, blushing, "The cool water felt very good on my skin, and the droplets of water - I don't think I've ever seen so many colors. I could swear that I was tasting some of them..." 

"That was probably Glorfindel's arm." Said Elladan dryly, "You bit him when he waded in to retrieve you from the fountain." 

"You're making that up." Aragorn accused. 

"He's not." Protested Elrohir and Legolas at the same time. 

"You," said Aragorn, pointing to the older of his twin foster brothers, "were asleep. And you," he added, pointing to Legolas, "were not there." 

Legolas laughed lightly. "When Glorfindel lectures the students in his unarmed combat classes on what to watch out for during his most recent visits, he still talks about the time when sick, hallucinating little Estel, all of eight years old, bit him so hard he nearly dropped you in surprise."

Sadly, that did have the ring of something that Glorfindel would say. Aragorn reluctantly conceded that it had probably happened, and made a mental note to apologize to his first teacher in the fighting arts when he got a chance. Glorfindel had been one of the only adults who hadn't spent more than a week lecturing him after that incident. "I still don't understand why Ada punished me for that experience. It as insult to injury, on top of having spent those two days so sick." Aragorn remembered. 

Twins looked at one another in obvious surprise. "You deserved the spanking and the lines, little brother." Elrohir scolded. "You knew you weren't to play in the healer's hall, even if it was a "no boundaries" game."

"We were worried sick about you," Elladan concurred, "but it was probably for the best in the end."

"How so?" Asked Imrahil, drawn into the tale, and hearing it, Aragorn thought, with a father's worry for a sick child. 

"The poppy allergy." Elladan explained, "If we hadn't known about that before Aragorn left us to begin his proper training as a ranger, then he might have been given syrup of poppy the first time he got hit by an arrow." 

"Which, coupled with blood loss and shock, might have left him seriously hurt, or even dead." Continued Elrohir gravely, one of his hands reaching out to rest lightly upon Aragorn's shoulder. 

Aragorn covered it with his own, "I am very sorry that I frightened all of you, but it took years for me to appreciate the benefits of not getting dosed with syrup of poppies when I was already injured. At the time, I felt very put upon. In my opinion, spanking me and making me write lines before I was well enough for Ada to let me stand while I wrote them was really adding insult to injury. And all of that before I spent my free time for the next month picking, straining, and re-mixing ingredients for the still-room stores, and cleaning the healing hall top to bottom." 

Aragorn's heartless brothers joined their audience in chuckling and teasing the former ranger for his youthful fully. Only Legolas refrained from laughing, and even he was smiling. 

With a gentle kick to Aragorn's booted foot, Legolas piped up, "Well, Aragorn gwador-nin, at least you aren't one of the twin sons of Elrond!" His expression was one of such perfect false ingenuousness that the twins should well be wary! 

The twins exchanged questioning glances while Aragorn snorted with humor, as he could guess what reference Legolas was likely making. 

"I am speaking, of course, of the time when you lured every spider in the Greenwood to my father's castle at Emyn Duir." Continued Legolas, his green eyes glinting with humor, "And convinced me to help you, no less!" 

"Oh, it is not as if that was the intended result." Elladan objected, although Aragorn could tell that his foster-brother was a little bit embarrassed. Both of the twins were, whenever this came up. 

"Whatever the intended result," Legolas teased, "'At least you are not one of the twin sons of Elrond' is what we Greenwood soldiers say to one another when we are in an intimidating amount of trouble. It never fails to make us feel better." 

"You're lying." Elladan immediately rebutted. 

"Unfortunately he is not." Said Elrohir haughtily, "I take it as a point of pride - no one in Greenwood ever got into as much trouble as we managed to cause on that one visit." 

"Oh, just tell the story, pointy ears!" Encouraged Gimli. 

Legolas laughed brightly, "With pleasure, my hirsute friend. That is, unless you would like to, Aragorn?"

"Nay, 'Las. You were an eyewitness - I am sure that you will tell it much better." Aragorn conceded, nodding to Legolas in gratitude. Younger brothers did have to stick together, after all. 

"We call this the story of "The Great Spider Incident," Legolas began grandly, "Or, "The Story of Why My Father King Thranduil Prefers That Only One of Elrond's Twin Sons Visit the Greenwood At Any Given Time." 

Legolas paused theatrically, "Now I must warn you all that this is a complicated bit of mischief, not any simple hiding in a forbidden place where there were spilled chemicals, or illicit gazing into a palantir. This is the type of chain of events that led Lord Elrond and his wife to wait over a hundred years before daring to have another child after the twins, the type of story that explains why my father says that his children were not particularly difficult, the sort of thing that..."

"Legolas," Elladan interrupted in a good humored fashion, though Aragorn noted with amusement that he was blushing still, "Please remember that we KNEW you as an elfling. A bit less editorializing if you please, unless of course you would like us to respond in kind." 

Aragorn stifled a good-natured laugh as he noted Gimli's amusement, and Imrahil's, at how quickly Legolas moved on. Aragorn unfortunately did not get to hear more of the tale, as he was interrupted by his temporary scribe Orohael, who had a message from the Dunedan spymaster Ethiron, one of Aragorn's oldest and dearest human friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just two more chapters to go, and they're already written! I'm excited to be going back to Beginnings & Endings next. Love to hear from you if you are still enjoying the story, thank you for reading either way!


	12. The Long March Home Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aragorn learns some unpleasant truths about Faramir's childhood, courtesy of his spymaster Ethiron's prying into records held at the House of Healing.

In truth, Aragorn would rather have stayed with his other friends around the fire than returned to deal with yet another message, but he appreciated that Orohael had agreed to work a few hours into the evening after having been excused for the past day to attend to other duties and spend time with his younger companions amongst the Northern rangers. And, Aragorn was trying to be patient with Orohael, who was not a natural scribe and would be even happier to return to his usual duties than Aragorn would be to have a real scribe! Still, Orohael's having once again misinterpreted a message coded "as soon as convenient" with the coding for "as soon as possible" did irritate the soon-to-be King. 

"Might as well let me see it, Oro." Aragorn said, trying not to let that annoyance show, "What did Ethiron have to tell me?" A good summary was usually something Orohael was quite capable of, and Aragorn would like to give him the chance to redeem himself. 

"Ah...I cannot be sure, Aragorn." Orohael apologized, "Even when I run the decoding patterns, it still seems to be about coronation protocol." 

Aragorn took the scroll with increased interest. For Ethiron to triple encode something meant that it must be sensitive in the extreme, even if it was not exceptionally time-sensitive. Indeed, it was marked with a waving line through the last letter of Ethiron's name, the symbol that it was keyed to a private code that only Aragorn, Ethiron, and Lord Elrond knew. 

"You cannot read this because you are not me," Aragorn explained quietly to Orohael, "And not through any fault in your diligence. Please do seek your rest, Orohael. I appreciate your careful attention to your duties, even if," Aragorn gave the man a fond half-smile, "I know that they are not to your taste." 

Orohael smiled back self-consciously. "No, they are not, but your patience with me has helped. Let me know if you need anything further tonight, my Lord." 

Aragorn agreed, and then lighted a lamp. He could just hear the sounds of his friends' continuing good spirits through the tight, elven weave of the tent. He debated rejoining them, but decided - well, his curiosity decided for him- that he would read the letter, first. 

Ethiron had written that: 

"Based on our information, it was clear that the Lords of Gondor, with some exceptions, did not expect much of Lord Faramir. They expected to be able to tell him that, no matter which eagles and Wizards and foreign elves approved you as King, certain (nigh impossible) proofs should be required before the Council accepted you as such. What I had gathered from my intelligence sources suggested that he had been an effective and valiant captain of the southern rangers, but was politically naive and unaccustomed to public speaking. Unaccustomed he may be, but he has shrewdly-made allies and is well -informed, and well-spoken. I'll be having a few words with my information gatherers. 

It was clear that the Council had expected a stuttering, politically naive, biddable youth. Someone they could convince - or even intimidate- into doing what they willed. What they got was, well, a younger and far more more eloquent and politically-aware version of you, old friend. Much as you were around the time that you set off to become Thorongil of Gondor, in point of fact, and argued down all of your grandfather, Elrond, the twins, and, well, all of us, to do it. And all of that with Gandalf grinning in the background. You know the grin I'm talking about, where it doesn't show much in his face but it's all in the eyes. 

In short, I have no concerns about Lord Faramir's loyalty to you or his fitness for the task that has fallen to him. I am, however, worried about your young Lord's personal health and well-being. He has been carrying on his duties with near excessive diligence and great competence, but he is sorely troubled by the men he lost at Osgiliath and Pelennor Fields. Perhaps also by the recent loss of his father and brother. 

More, there is something...off, in the way in which the relationship between the old Steward Denethor and his second son is described by those who knew them better. This is a smart young man, Aragorn. That was obvious upon a single day's acquaintance with him. Why didn't Denethor have him more involved in the running of the city, particularly after the departure of his brother? Why did the Lords of the Council feel free to treat him like an errant child until Faramir pulled them up short? Why did they expect to be able to intimidate him? More, why do none of Lord Faramir's friends so much as mention his father? There are condolences for the loss of his brother. They are as gentle with him on that point as if he lost all his family at once, but no mention of his father. However, Denethor's staff act mostly as if they had wronged the young Lord, and now expect him to return unkindness with unkindness now that he is in power. Which he did not. He treated them all with respect, though he did dismiss those who were most scornful of you. I suspect you will also want to dismiss at least three of the others, as they were scornful of Lord Faramir. 

The weight of what isn't being said, both by young Lord Faramir's friends and by who oppose him, is such that I would almost expect young Faramir had been abused by his father. During my time at the House of Healing, I pulled the young Lord's medical records. Many of them were mis-filed, and I had to identify them by partial patient history. He had many more broken bones, bruises, and other injuries than one might expect of a young child. This was starting from when he was seven years of age, before he should have been in serious military training. It was excessive, even for an exceptionally clumsy lad in military training. And Faramir does not strike me as clumsy. He is also not careful, rather like you when first you joined us, sure that being Isildur's heir meant you had to always be first in the line of battle. Only you showed some shame for that, as your foster-father Lord Elrond had taught you that risking your life without grave need would not be tolerated, and Captain Magordan and Lord Dirhael did not hesitate to remind you. This young idiot - he stood in the path of a bowman, and later asked me why I thought it foolish. I am afraid I spanked him at this, and must apologize for taking such a liberty with the person of your young Lord. I gave him but a dozen swats 'oer his leggings to get him to mind, and he thanked me for pointing out he was not at his most reasonable. More, he thinks his best efforts will not be enough to please you. The more I see, the more I fear his relationship with his father may have been not just neglectful, but actively abusive."

At that, Aragorn had to stop reading for a moment, in order to pace. It was a mild way to calm his worry and nauseated fury at the thought that his one-time friend Denethor might have abused any child, let alone his own child. Aye, and his frustration with his other friend Finduilas, who was wise and should have seen the signs of that coming, and sent her son somewhere safe, and with Imrahil, who should have said something. And then there was his confusion, for it was rare for a man who would abuse one child to leave another unharmed, and Boromir had shown none of the signs of abuse. Finally, Aragorn calmed enough to finish reading the letter. 

"Despite all of that, your young Faramir is one of the most promising men I've ever met. If he weren't already a captain at the absurdly young age of 33, I'd advise you to promote him." 

Later, in a more tired hand, Ethiron had appended "and unwillingly sneaky. If you don't want this young one, Aragorn, I do." 

High praise indeed from Ethiron, who, given his druthers, only took the best of the best, and only those who were both clever and had sound judgment. While Aragorn pondered the contents of his letter, his continuing absence had apparently been noted. By at least Magordan and Elladan, who silently entered the tent. Aragorn thought about chiding them for it, then decided he needed their counsel more than he needed them not to treat him like a child in need of watching. 

Aragorn swore them to secrecy, then explained what Ethiron had learned. 

"Imrahil should have said something." Aragorn complained, anger and fear combining into a determination to confront his old friend about the matter, whether or not Imrahil wanted to discuss it. 

Magordan shared a troubled glance with Elladan. 

"Aragorn, my dear brother," Elladan began, holding Aragorn's attention immediately, for the twins almost never consented to call him by his preferred birth-name, "He may not have felt inspired to share confidence. Do not forget that Imrahil may fear for his remaining nephew on a more prosaic level. If what we have begun to understand about the depth to which Boromir, Faramir, and the other captains of Gondor were being less than totally forthcoming with the Lord Steward Denethor is in fact true, Imrahil may be concerned you plan to have them executed for treason." 

"I have said that I will not." Aragorn said, still much incensed, "And he can't possibly think that of me, even if I had not. We knew eachother too well for that." 

"Aye, but ages ago." Said Magoradan, playing the opposing counsel, "When you left here, Imrahil was about the same age as you were, when you first found out that you were our Chieftain. What if you had been left to your own devices then? Would you still be willing to trust a returning mentor, after all that time? Be willing to trust such a mentor with confidences that could mean your death, or that of your children and sister-son?" 

Aragorn shuddered, and then reproached himself again. "Perhaps I made the wrong decision, in leaving Gondor when I did. At the time, it felt gallingly like cowardice, but the Enemy was growing suspicious, and there was more I needed to learn, in other places...." 

"I could tell you we won and that winning post-facto endorses all of the decisions we made." Elladan said, reaching out for Aragorn's shoulder and squeezing firmly, "I even believe that, to some extent. But I know you, and I know that you are still blaming yourself. If you keep it up, Elrohir and I will have more than words with you." 

"You should not feel guilty, my Lord." Magordan agreed, "There were at least three attempts on your life, in the last year we served in Gondor. Let alone whoever was acting to discredit you with Denethor and Ectheliton. You had few choices but to leave, and you did come back, after all." 

It was true, but it did not feel like comfort, now. Not if in Aragorn's absence Denethor's mind had broken to the extent that he'd beaten his children, and Imrahil had not stopped it, or had not been able to stop it. He couldn't imagine that of Imrahil, but the younger man was still so angry...was this the cause, or was it merely what Aragorn had thought, and understood, that the anger was over his departure while Gondor was in bad straits? 

"What should I do?" Aragorn asked at last, aware that neither Magordan nor Elladan could decide for him, but desirous of their counsel, should they have anything to give. 

"Talk to him." Magordan advised bluntly. 

"I think that you have begun well with him." Said Elladan, "Continue to treat Imrahil as a valued friend as well as advisor, a member of your extended family, go to him even with this, and I have faith he will come around." 

Aragorn nodded, thinking that over. The Princes of Dol Amroth were always compelled to return honor with honor, confidence with confidence. Young Faramir had certainly struck Aragorn so, in their brief time together. Aragorn resolved to speak with Imrahil, and to continue to assure him, if it was necessary, that all of their well-meaning deceptions would be forgiven, and any attempt to continue as they had been accustomed in the case of disagreement would result in sore bottoms and suspensions, if merited. Certainly not executions, and most probably not even banishment or dismissals. And, given this new and unwelcome intelligence, Aragorn must convince Imrahil that even the worst of what had happened while he was away should be brought and laid before him, so that Aragorn could do his best to cure it without judging it, or if judgment must be rendered, to judge it mercifully and with understanding." 

So resolved, Aragorn went back to the fire, intending to pull Imrahil away for a private - and possibly unpleasant - interview. 

His friends had evidently continued with their story-telling. 

"And if our earlier tricks hadn't scared the bandits away from our side of the mountain," Gimli chuckled, "Then our howls when my Da caught on certainly would have!" 

"Who would have thought," Legolas teased, "Our stalwart dwarf was once a mischievous, disobedient youngling who took part in a foolhardy plan to convince human bandits that a mine was haunted, and even after he and his cousins had been explicitly told to leave the bandits be!" 

"At least I wasn't off exploring the woods alone, pointy ears!" Gimli retorted in a friendly fashion. 

"If I'd had cousins close to my own age, I wouldn't have been." Said Legolas ruefully, "I wouldn't even have had to seek out human playmates. But my only near-age cousin was Alagossiel - and flirting with ellyn wasn't really my favorite way to spend time." 

Elrohir gave his protege an affectionate, condescending pat on the head, "'Tis a good thing." 

"Aye, 'Las." Agreed Elladan, who had returned in Aragorn's wake, "For 'twould have broken the hearts of ellith all over the Greenwood!" 

"At least the cradle-robbers." Said Elrohir darkly, polishing one of his knives as Legolas sighed. 

"What are ellith? " Asked Pippin, breaking the tension. 

"Female elves," Explained Imrahil, "The plural. An elleth is one female elf. Ellon is the singular for males, and ellyn means more than one male elf." 

"Oh." Said Pippin, with an understanding, wide-eyed nod, "We don't have much of that in the Shire, though there are a few old bachelors living on their own whom the gossips will natter on about. Amongst them Bilbo, but my Ma and Merry's put a stop to that right quick, when Frodo went to live with him." 

"I am glad." Said Imrahil gently, "Loving those of one's same gender is not the done thing, amongst men. I think it likely the same, amongst elves. I cannot help but think 'tis a pity - I've known good men who have hat preference." 

"We have, as well," Elladan explained, "But it is certainly not the done thing, for a King's only remaining blood-heir." 

"No." Agreed Imrahil, with a depth of regret that Aragorn found surprising, "Although I think that it was likely that Boromir's womanizing worried Denethor near as much as if he'd other inclinations." Imrahil continued. 

Pippin took control of the conversation again, passing around a flask of good beer from the men of the Lossarnach with a toast to his departed friend and protector. After Imrahil had handed the flask back to him, Pippin asked, "Did Boromir ever get into that sort of trouble we were speaking of, Prince Imrahil? The kind that ended up being fortunate sometime after?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	13. The Long March Home Part 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes learn more of Boromir and Faramir's childhood, and Aragorn has an unpleasant conversation with Imrahil.

Imrahil coughed, as Gandalf chuckled. The Prince of Dol Amroth tried to explain. "Normally, Boromir, and his brother Faramir, were very careful to toe the line their father established. Gondor was a country under siege, and both children entered the academy by the age of ten, and were posted to their first regiments by sixteen. But there were a few times, during their visits to Dol Amroth, that they got into trouble. Now, trouble which ended up being for the best..." Imrahil paused, remembering several occasions when he had punished Faramir for studying late with Mithrandir. 

Imrahil had later learned from Boromir that what Faramir and Mithrandir had devised that night had saved both of the boys' lives. Though, the Prince of Dol Amroth had never gotten the full story of how his nine year old and fifteen year old nephews had ended up more or less alone in the forest to fight orcs in the first place. What he had learned had been bad enough. Imrahil had unwillingly realized, when his nephews were but children, that he would have to accept limitations in the extent to which he could demand they tell him everything and in the extent to which he ought reprimand them, if he expected them to keep coming to him of their own free will with their problems. And the problems they had brought him had been terrifying enough.

"Is that normal for Gondor?" Aragorn asked, concern in his tone. "I remember the academy graduates seemed young to me, but not that young." 

Imrahil did not respond immediately. He remembered his old commanding officer Thorongil, who had mourned not just the loss of life and wholeness amongst the younger sailors and soldiers, but their loss of innocence as well. He remembered the man Aragorn had been, who could divine the truth from half-spoken rumors and and the fears men did not speak. But Imrahil was not sure if the new King had earned all of these truths, as long as Aragorn had been away. Imrahil's loyalty, yes. His service, of course, and even his friendship. But not the tale of the price Imrahil's family had paid to preserve the shadow of what Gondor had been, so that this man and his kin might help breathe it back into life. The Prince of Dol Amroth wasn't sure why he was so reluctant, or who he was protecting. Surely Denethor was beyond his help or succor, as was Boromir. But Faramir was not, and did not deserve for his pain and sacrifices, willingly made, to be the topics of discussion at a fireside chat where he was not even present. 

"No, it was not normal." Gandalf explained, as Imrahil remained pensive. "Noble boys used to go to the academy between the ages of twelve to fourteen, depending on their size and aptitude, and their fathers' wishes. They would graduate and become squires, or be posted to their first position, at the age of eighteen. Denethor changed the age of admission to the army to sixteen, and the age of admission to the academy to ten years of age. Boromir, Faramir, and several others, began attending as day students at age eight." 

"Positive changes were made as well," Imrahil interrupted, as the King-to-be and his companions looked horrified by the presence of such young children in military training. "The academy began to accept boys of humbler birth, if they could read and write and seemed likely to make good officers."

"Denethor and his sons made many sacrifices and difficult decisions that Gondor might survive this war intact." Gandalf commented. "Although I cannot but think that his sons' decisions were better ones, on the whole." 

Imrahil sighed. He would prefer it if the Wizard did not feel inclined to air all of his family's dirty laundry to this group of relative strangers, congenial and capable though they had thus far proven. 

"Decisions like what, Gandalf?" The young hobbit asked. Imrahil was quickly learning that curiosity seemed to be the cardinal trait of hobbits. 

The Wizard, apparently recognizing that he was straying into ground that perhaps should not be discussed, as it would have resulted in a military execution for both of Imrahil's nephews, caught himself before he could praise the boys' military decisions at the expense of their father's. The problem was, Imrahil thought to himself, that many of the boys' military decisions had been made in indirect and subtle contravention of their father's will. Knowingly, at least on Faramir's part. How much Boromir had realized, or let himself realize, Imrahil was was never exactly certain. 

But Boromir had soothed his father, and Faramir had figured out what needed to be done. Both brothers had seen that the needed steps were taken. On the rare occasions that their machinations were discovered (usually to be praised by other officers, although there were occasional failures and criticisms as well) Faramir had taken all of the accountability. Boromir had disagreed with this tactic at first, but both had realized their only hope of reasoning with their father was to keep one of them in Denethor's graces. And that had to be Boromir, for Denethor could never look upon Faramir without pain. 

"Ah..." Commented the Wizard. "It is a long and boring story Peregrine, and not really appropriate to this night's theme. I think that Imrahil has another story in mind." 

Silently suppressing another frustrated comment, Imrahil smiled and agreed. "Aye, when they were youngsters - Boromir perhaps 13 or 14, and Faramir 8, I believe, my nephews decided they wanted to see a bit more of Dol Amroth, without such, ah, quelling supervision as I or their grandfather might have provided. This was not particularly well reasoned of them, as my father especially was not really a "quelling" fellow. My older sons, for reasons which to this day remain unknown to me, thought this a fine idea. So off the four of them went, the oldest 13, the youngest 8, into the city to visit taverns and other "fascinating cultural experiences" which their status and my "excessive propriety" had heretofore denied them."

Gandlaf, eyes twinkling, asked "Exact quotes?" 

"Aye," Imrahil agreed. "Our junior scholar's words. Since Boromir had helped to organize the expedition, they also visited a brothel. Not as patrons, but to participate in an hour of intellectual discussion during which I am told the hostesses wore little to no clothing."

Pippin, eyes wide, chuckled. "I suppose even then, Boromir had an eye for the ladies." 

"He did." Imrahil agreed, with a sad smile for his lost nephew. Strangely, while it still felt painful to discuss the oldest of Adrahil's grandchildren, it was becoming a good pain. He realized that there was more to this small hobbit than met the eye, and more reasons to like him than just Pippin's having played a role in saving Faramir's live. Though that would have been enough. "And Faramir wanted to see the Haradrim sword dancers." 

"I remember them." Aragorn put in, looking to his brothers. "I don't know if you've ever seen a performance, but I think that you would love it. Ada would not want any of us to try to emulate them, though." 

While Imrahil wondered where Aragorn might have seen sword-dancers, and what else he might have seen in his travels, Elladan wrinkled his nose. "Though we may become as old as Mithrandir,"

"Ada will never truly believe that we have outgrown being clumsy, careless elflings." Elrohir exasperatedly finished. 

"I've heard tales of you two when you were elflings." The old wizard commented wryly. "And I do not blame Lord Elrond. Though you two have both turned out well. I think there may be something to be said, for the more difficult the child, the more worthy the adult. There are exceptions, however. I am told that your sister was almost always a well-behaved young elf, and has matured into a lovely and dangerous future Queen." 

"Wrong sister." Said Elrohir with a wry, sad smile. 

"Arwen is the most intimidating and terrifying of all of Ada's children." Elrohir commented,

"And that does include Estel." Elrohir conceded. 

"Part of her power is that she seems merely decorative until she must act." Aragorn commented, his lover's eyes apparently seeing this with admiration, while the twins shook their heads in disgust. 

Imrahil had remained quiet during this fascinating look into his future Queen, but resumed his story at the King's request, choosing his words carefully, particularly in respect of Faramir, who would have to work with Aragorn. 

"The boys had enjoyed a fine day, and were on schedule to be back at my father's castle 'ere they were missed. Then they came upon an Easterling merchant being restrained while two sailors assaulted a baker. My middle son Erchirion ran for the guard, while Boromir, Faramir and my oldest son Elphir interrupted the attack. The two sailors accused the Easterling merchant of having perpetrated the assault, in what was apparently a pre-planned gambit to seize his ship. The baker was too scared to dispute this version of events. But the boys truthfully witnessed what they had seen, saving the Easterling's life and livelihood, even though it meant giving their identities to the guards, who were rather...ah, intimidated." 

Magordan, who had followed when Aragorn did not return straight off, chuckled darkly. "I can imagine that they were. The heir to the princedom and his brother, and the Lord Steward of Gondor's sons, all in harm's way. Not a good day for the guard." 

"Nor for my sons and nephews, for I paddled all four of them." Added Imrahil with a sad smile, "And then set them to cleaning every cistern in the castle. Though I was proud of them, nonetheless. And grateful again just days past at Barad-Dur. 'Twas that same Easterling merchant's brother, Lord Aragorn, who was the first of the Easterling commanders to throw down his arms and accept your mercy, and who urged his companions to do the same." 

"Then it was a lucky bit of mischief indeed." The future King agreed. "For that man's timely surrender spared many lives, ours and their own, that day." Then Aragorn's face grew still and stern, and his gray gaze fixed on Imrahil. "Pardon the interruption, Prince Imrahil, but might I have a few moments of your time?"

"Of course," The Prince arose, somewhat worried by the troubled look in his former commander's eyes. Somehow, Adrahil's son did not think this just another question about how Gondor's armies had managed to survive this long, so hobbled by the kingdom's quarrelsome council. Thorongil- Aragorn - had already assured him that he would not take any action against Imrahil, his nephew, or their confederates for plans they had made under Denethor's authority. Imrahil knew that Thorongil's word was good. But Thorongil - Aragorn - had just now spoken firmly, in the compelling tone that had let his one-time executive officer Imrahil know that he was about to be called to account for something. Imrahil had no idea what it could be, and hence was unsettled as he followed his King to the command tent. 

What Thorongil- Aragorn - had to tell him was worse than anything Imrahil could have imagined. So awful it could hardly be believed. Hearing it, now, Imrahil wanted to say it was impossible, and he did, at first. 

But then he remembered the bruises on the child Faramir, on that long-ago voyage to Dol Amroth when Faramir had been eight. He remembered the changes in the child's temperament. But Faramir had said it was from a fall, climbing somewhere he was not supposed to go. And Boromir had seemed so very sure that Faramir had incurred those injuries in his normal peregrinations...why hadn't Imrahil looked closer? The Prince thought of tiny, eight year old Faramir...so vulnerable and alone in the stone city. Outside of war, Imrahil was a peaceable man who had never so much as gotten into a bar fight when he wasn't with his brother-by-law Telemnar, but right now, he wanted to beat his other brother-by-law Denethor to a bloody pulp. How could the man not have noticed? Worse, more horrible thought, could his brother-by-law DENETHOR have been the one to hurt his own son? Imrahil's fists clenched and his blood raced, a roaring sound in his ears.

"I'm waiting, Imrahil." Aragorn prompted, his patience evidently thin. 

Some part of Imrahil heard the words, and meant to obey. But he was still too overwhelmed, too caught in his own horror and guilt at what he had MISSED....

"Fire rain in Mordor," Magordan swore softly in realization, "Aragorn, he didn't know."

Aragorn's eyes flashed from anger to surprise, and sympathy quickly followed. "Eru, Imrahil, I'm sorry. Here, sit down a moment."

Imrahil did, mind in a fog. Terrible abuse to have been meted out on a child, though he'd seen worse in his time as a soldier and sailor. But never to his own kin! Terrible abuse that had apparently just ... stopped, right before Faramir turned nine, if what the King's man had found could be believed. Fortunate, but odd, that. Such terrible practices did not usually end, just like that, with no fanfare or revelation. 

"Were there any records of these injuries continuing after Faramir turned nine?" Imrahil managed to ask, voice sounding very far away to his own ears.

"Not that my man found." Aragorn replied gently. "And he was looking, by that point. Who would have had access to Faramir that cut off, around then?"

Imrahil tried to remember, through the swirl of anger and fear and guilt. Why had the abuse apparently stopped, or at least lessened? "Maybe a tutor or armsmaster, possibly a member of Denethor's household staff. Faramir started at the academy full-time, around then."

Magordan was shocked. "At eight?"

"As a day student," IMrahil explained. "It was strange, but not exceedingly so." Shaking his head and wondering how it might have come about that his nephew was removed from an abusive situation efficiently but covertly, without alerting anyone to the circumstances, the answer came to him in a flash of memories from that long, eventful summer. "Adar." Imrahil managed, looking up at his former commander with a sick feeling in the base of his stomach.

"Adrahil knew?" Aragorn responded, incredulous. "I can't see him letting anyone raise a hand to one of his grandchildren, no offense, Imrahil."

"He could be very .... practical, when he had to be." Imrahil responded absently. "And he spent a great deal of time with Faramir, that summer. He knew something - between him and my nephews, they must have figured a way to get Faramir out of that situation." Imrahil smiled humorlessly, wishing that his father were about, so that Imrahil might finally lose his temper at his honored sire. "They must have determined that I could not be told. I might well have kept Faramir in Dol Amroth had I known of the abuse, no matter the cost. Such defiance would not have been tolerated by Denethor."

Aragorn nodded, appearing greatly angered that anyone had dared hurt a child of his friends, and appalled that Denethor had somehow missed the tell-tale signs, but glad at least that the situation had at least been of relatively short duration. 

"So it was not Denethor, then?" Aragorn asked finally, seemingly glad that the facts pointed away from such a conclusion.

"If I had thought it was, ever, I would not have left Faramir there." Imrahil answered. This he did not mind telling Aragorn. "Their relationship was always fraught, Thor - Aragorn. Faramir looked like Finduilas, thought like Finduilas. Denethor never forgot or forgave that, but for Faramir, he might still have Finduilas. Nor did he ever appreciate scholarly qualities in a son of his. But I never saw Denethor raise a hand to the boy. Not once." Imrahil did not expand that Denethor had simply ignored Faramir much of the time, noting him only to berate him. That wasn't what Aragorn had asked. Denethor had not been the father to Faramir that he had been to Boromir, and the best that Boromir and Imrahil and others had done to fill that gap had never been enough. Faramir's earliest knowledge had been that his own father did not care for him, and that had produced a recklessness in his poor younger nephew which frequently left Imrahil stunned and horrified.

Magordan frowned. "Never lifted a hand. Not even a caring hand?" He asked.

Aragorn nodded to Imrahil to answer that question, flashing a thankful half-smile to his Captain and mentor, while Imrahil mentally cursed the too-perceptive Magordan for picking up on that. 

"No." Imrahil answered simply. "Though I was not always there." This got into the ground that Imrahil was reluctant to bring to light, not without Faramir's permission. His nephew wasn't perfect, but Imrahil wasn't sure Faramir's flaws were for Aragorn's knowledge, at least not until or unless Faramir so decided.

At that point, Gandalf entered the tent. Casting his gaze around the tent, the Wizard blessedly leapt to the conclusion that they had been discussing Denethor more generally, rather than as the possible author of - or at least the negligent authority who failed to note - abuse to his own child. 

"If Denethor was so unstable," Gandalf questioned, "Then why did you and Adrahil not arrange to have him removed?" 

Imrahil snorted. "And replaced with whom?" 

"Someone not using a palantir." Gandalf suggested acerbically. "That was very foolish to allow him to continue thus, son of Adrahil."

Imrahil laughed, brittle and bitter, declining to notice the concerned gaze of the King upon him. 

"Again, I ask, with whom?" The Prince of Dol Amroth asked, now pacing the tent, then distracted for a moment as he accepted a cup of wine from Captain Magordan. 

Aragorn nodded his approval to Magordan, and asked, "Why, Imrahil, if you had enough clout to have two armies "misplaced" within Gondor, did you not have enough influence to have Denethor removed?" 

Imrahil shook his head, trying to order his thoughts, as Aragorn sighed and pushed his old friend into a camp chair. "Take your time, Imrah. This is not an inquisition. I need to know what I am walking into in Minas Tirith, and I need to know how Dol Amroth has come to have so much influence over Gondor's armies. I am not angry, for what you and yours did was needful. Nor do I plan on taking anyone to task for their actions in deceiving Denethor, as I have already told you. But I need to know how it was done, so that we may go about setting up a system that is responsive to me as King, as well as to advice from the Sea Fox's son.' 

Imrahil chuckled. "Father would be so happy to see you back, Thor....Aragorn. He and Finduilas always insisted that you would return." 

"And Denethor?" Aragorn asked sadly, knowing his old friend had resented him by the end.

"Denethor was poisoned against you by the Palantir, for he was using it even before you left, my father thought." Imrahil explained, eyes blinking drowsily. 

Gandalf harrumphed loudly. "If Adrahil knew, why did he not tell me?" 

"He didn't know that it was a palantir. He thought it an agent he had missed, and that if he had, you would as well. He thought you safer not knowing. 'Twas one of Faramir'ls scholar friends who thought it might be a seeing stone, and told one of ...my men, in Gondor. We still didn't know, it was just one of over a dozen possibilities for his behavior. And 'twas Boromir's sworn brothers, the captains Gendarion and Galdoron, who helped me to move Denethor's armies without his knowledge. Faramir and several of the younger officers loyal to him assisted. It was Denethor's heirs, and those loyal to them, who outfoxed him there. They knew him best. And.... in the end, I think that Sauron may have been near as befuddled by Denethor as Denethor by Sauron." Imrahil explained. 

 

"Hmm" murmured Gandalf, considering that. 

"Whatever his faults, Aragorn, Mithrandir, Denethor was a strong man." Imrahil argued softly. "He was my friend and my brother, and he wanted the best for Gondor. He put that above everything else, even his sons. I think it true that Sauron, in whatever passed for his mind, was near as much deluded by Denethor's bull-headed stubbornness as Denethor was by the dark one's wiles. Denethor believed himself an obstacle that must be won over if Gondor was to be defeated and Sauron must perforce have tried," Imrahil smiled, a twisted, tortured grimace that brought Aragorn's gray, kind gaze to him again, "Denethor could not be won over," Imrahil continued, ignoring that offer of sympathy, "He could be both influenced and confused, yes, but won over, no, not ever. I'd place money that Sauron believed Denethor would fall to him willingly, and Denethor held, only falling in madness." 

 

Aragorn quickly moved to hide his old friend's collapse as Imrahil broke down weeping. "Denethor could have killed his only living child, Captain," the Prince of Dol Amroth sobbed his to his old friend and former commanding officer, feeling lost and tired beyond what one glass of wine should have engendered, "He could have killed the last of the Hurins, all I have left of my sister Finduilas, in his madness." Imrahil's last memory of that night was of Aragorn holding him, and soothing him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear from you if you are enjoying the story! Thanks for reading!


	14. The Long March Home Part 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Imrahil comes to a realization.

That night the Prince slept soundly in the tent of the King-to-be, well-cared for by the King and his brothers, who were all healers. He awoke in Aragorn's cot in the morning, warm from the King's blankets, and with a crick in his left foot from the presence of what turned out to be the toy bear at the bottom of the King's bedroll. 

Aragorn chuckled when Imrahil handed him the bear, murmured something about vengeance upon his brothers, and put the bear aside for Pippin to give to one of the healers with a young daughter. Then the King handed the Prince of Dol Amroth a flask of cool water, and spoke to him earnestly. 

"Imrahil, we were friends. Your sister was like a sister to me, and you like my own younger brother. I view you as my friend still. I would have you view me as your friend again, as well as your King. I know that may take some time, and I accept that. I know I left you in a poor situation, leaving when I did. Freely I forgive you for anything you had to do in that situation. I would ask that you forgive yourself as well." 

"Not command?" Asked Imrahil, not much of a jest or an answer, but the best he could do in the circumstances. 

Aragorn squeezed his shoulder, apparently pleased. "I like to ask first," Said the King with a fond, wry smile, "I can always command later, if asking doesn't work." 

"And you say that it is I who recall my father Adrahil." Imrahil scolded. 

The King smiled again, nearly a grin, and Imrahil's own heart lightened to see such a care-free look on his face, for even Thorongil the young Captain had been greatly care-worn. Imrahil smiled softly back, and apologized for losing control of himself and putting the King out of his bed. Imrahil was more than a little concerned about the example he was setting for his youngest son Amrothos, who had fought valiantly and well at Barad-Dur, and had been excessively inebriated several times since, much to his father's concerned annoyance. 

"It is no matter, Imrahil." Aragorn soothed. "Truly no matter. My captain Magordan- the one who keeps reminding me to eat, and lace my tunic, and put off my boots before I get in bed for the night..." 

Here it was Imrahil who had to bite back a smile, as Aragorn had never enjoyed being fussed over, not even when he was younger, and it had been not just Magordan but also Finduilas and Ecthelion fussing over him and Denethor both. 

"That Captain Magordan, yes." Imrahil prompted.

"Well, he thought you overset, and slipped a drug in your wine last night. Not a truth brew - just a sleeping draught. So it was not your fault you did not make it home last night."

Imrahil couldn't decide whether he should feel betrayed, grateful (given how upset he'd been), or embarrassed to have been treated like an overwrought child. 

Here the future King soothed him again. "Nay, Imrahil, there is no shame in that. It has been a difficult few weeks, and more so for the man nominally in charge of Gondor until my coronation, despite your having a competent nephew's aid from the House of Healing. When I was but a few years your junior in age, and a young Captain in Gondor, your sister's father-by-law many times treated me thusly. Once when he did not notice my state until too late in the evening, I shamed myself by sicking up all over a gown of your sister's when she and Ecthelion went to put me to bed." 

Imrahil smiled again. "I remember that - Finduilas must have only just been pregnant with Faramir then. It was a wonder she did not sick up on you in turn, so nauseated was she during the early months of that pregnancy. She did not blame you for ruining that gown, though. She loved you well." 

"As you love her sons, and as I came to care for Boromir, and have no doubt I will come to treasure her remaining son, in time." Aragorn prompted gently. "To care for the young Captain you leave in my care as your family once did for me, Imrahil, I may need to know more of his life. Please think on it."

Torn between belief and caution, Imrahil decided on a gesture of good will. "Faramir was one of my father's last, few, select protegees." He confessed to Aragorn, "Of all of his grandchildren, Adrahil said that Faramir and Amrothos might resemble him the most."

Aragorn nodded, suitably impressed. "Enough said, then." 

Imrahil returned to his camp, only to find Amrothos playing cards with Dervorin as the rest of his men finished packing up. Sir Bellasaer's shake of his head turned Imrahil from his first impulse, which was to berate both young men for lazing about when there was work to be done. If Bellasaer thought that Amrothos needed a break, then Amrothos probably did. Eru knew that his father had been no help to him the previous night! 

"Adar!" Greeted Amrothos, both cheerful and relieved, "The fiercer of the King's two elven foster-brothers said that you had remained with him last night, although he did not explain why." 

"We had matters to discuss, son." Imrahil replied, though he was sure Dervorin, at least, saw his blush. Imrahil narrowed his eyes at Faramir's lieutenant. He was not sure if he liked having his youngest son, the most like his father Adrahil of all of his and Lorias' brood, spending so much unsupervised time with Dervorin. Faramir was different, as he felt a strong duty to look after his younger cousin. Dervorin treated Amrothos like an adult who could make his own decisions rather than a cherished younger cousin, and the decisions that Dervorin had been making when he had been a similar age to Amrothos had been....terrifying.

"Dervorin," Said Imrahil, watching his son and the lieutenant more closely, "Are you teaching my son how to cheat at cards?" 

"Oh, no, no, no, Prince Imrahil," Dervorin denied with a charming smile, "I am just teaching your son how to tell if SOMEONE ELSE is cheating at cards, but to do that he must know how to cheat himself." 

As he concluded his own review of his men, Imrahil considered his son, and Dervorin, and what he'd just learned of Faramir. And he considered Aragorn's words and outstanding offer of friendship, and reflected that Faramir had outfoxed all of them, even Boromir, in hiding the extent to which his relations with Denethor had deteriorated, and in setting up this spy network. And likely in other things as well, for it had been Faramir who had said, "Don't worry, Uncle Imrah. We can convince Lord Denethor to think the armies are where they aren't - but it is best if you don't know how." 

Imrahil considered all of that. He had been thinking of Aragorn as an interloper, if a welcome one. Perhaps, the Prince of Dol Amroth should view his former commanding officer as aid-unlooked for with respect to taming his stubborn nephew. Imrahil was just beginning to realize that they now lived in a different world, one where Imrahil did not have to hide his growing concern and care for Faramir from the ruling Steward. Despite that, Faramir would almost certainly continue to behave as he had learned to act - much as Aragorn feared. As much as Imrahil wanted to have his nephew closer by Dol Amroth, perhaps in Imrahil's own navy again that he might keep better track of the young man, he didn't think Faramir would want to leave Gondor and Ithilien, at least not for very long. More, having Telemnar and Faramir together in the same navy for six months when Faramir was a teenager had been enough to give Imrahil his first gray hairs. Granted, it had been a greater disaster for their enemies, but Imrahil liked to KNOW what his ships were planning to do ahead of time.

Mayhap there would be some merit in leaving Faramir in Aragorn's service. The King, when Imrahil had known him as Captain then Admiral, had been minded to let his officers try their wings and develop their strength, provided that they did not risk themselves needlessly or try to stretch too far.

With a start, Imrahil realized he was not actually afeared for his nephew at the new king's hands. After Aragorn's disastrous first mission as his commanding officer, the newly minted admiral had gotten much better at keeping track of Imrahil's activities, sometimes noting the young man's subtle manipulations that even Adrahil had missed. Though the young Imrahil had, in several memorable instances, been called to account over Aragorn's knee, Imrahil had not resented that care, as painful and embarrassing as it had been in the instant. Indeed, the young Imrahil had forgiven the future King everything but leaving, though he now knew from Mithrandir that Aragorn's departure had been needed. Required by "the exigencies of prophecy," the same forces that had kept Imrahil from being the caring, concerned, involved father figure Faramir had needed much earlier in his life.

Now the exigencies of prophecy had brought Aragorn back to rule Gondor, including its Steward, who the King intended to keep on in some capacity. Perhaps this was a good thing. Perhaps Aragorn could be the gentle but stern guidance that Faramir needed in order to help him reconsider some of his reckless, dangerous risks. Perhaps the King could help Imrahil keep track of what his lamentably clever nephew was up to. Looking to Dervorin and Amrothos, much like Faramir in their own respective ways, Imrahil reflected that he could certainly use the help.

Yes, perhaps the King and his clever companions could keep an eye on Imrahil's irrepressible, determined, and much loved young men, these three in particular who were, in Adrahil's opinion, the most like him. And it was Adrahil who had chosen Aragorn to command his fleet after the old Prince was no longer capable of the physical demands of such command, and before his son was old enough. Imrahil resolved to accept more of Aragorn's invitations to join him and his close friends and family at the royal fire, and considered bringing Amrothos with him. It was best that the King learn what he was getting himself into, reaffirming his friendship with the ...unique... princely family of Dol Amroth.


End file.
